


Teach Me Something I Don't Know

by homoose



Series: Teach Me Something I Don't Know [1]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 41,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homoose/pseuds/homoose
Summary: When Will asks him to pick Michael up from school, Spencer may or may not develop a schoolboy crush on the kindergarten teacher.Warnings/Includes: nonea/n: Here she is! I’m not sure exactly what it is about Spencer Reid x teacher!reader, but it is my most requested fic topic, and I am happy to oblige! This is the first in a multi-part series.
Relationships: Spencer Reid & Reader, Spencer Reid & You, Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid/You
Series: Teach Me Something I Don't Know [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048711
Comments: 123
Kudos: 250





	1. Part I

“A strong geographical profile is one of the most important pieces of the overall behavioral profile; it significantly narrows the area the team has to cover, allows for law enforcement teams to prioritize and maximize limited resources, and helps focus the investigation in conjunction with the other elements of the profile. And that wraps our section on building geographical profiles!” Spencer smiled at the faces in front of him, gesturing to the board. “The information we covered today will make up a significant portion of your midterm, so make sure to review it before next week. See you all next Thursday!”

As his students began packing up their things, Spencer’s phone rang from inside his bag. When he retrieved the phone and saw Will’s name on the caller ID, his brow furrowed in concern. “Will— everything ok?”

“Hey, yeah, yeah, everything’s fine,” he assured him. “I’m sorry to ask, but JJ’s on a case, and my partner and I just finished our last call clear on the other side of the city. Henry’s got soccer practice, but Michael’s gotta be picked up in about— well, shit, right about now. Would you mind picking him up and bringing him ‘round to the house?”

Spencer looped the strap of his bag over his shoulder and started up the aisle out of the lecture hall. “Yeah, of course! It’s over by the Naval Observatory, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the one. If you pull ‘round the parking lot, they usually come out the side door. His teacher’s real sweet, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ll let her know you’re picking him up.”

“Okay, sounds good.” Spencer pushed open the door and made his way down the hall.

“You’re the best,” Will drawled. “I’ll only be about half an hour.”

…

When Spencer pulled the baby blue Volvo into the parking lot of the school, he saw Michael and Ms. Y/L/N sitting on the steps of school. Their heads were so close they were almost touching, looking down at a book laying across their laps. Her legs were stretched out straight and she pointed down to the page, saying something that made Michael throw his little head back in a laugh that floated in through the open window of the car. Spencer grinned at the familiar sound as he pulled around the carpool loop.

When he recovered from the giggles, Michael caught sight of the car and waved his hand excitedly at Spencer. Ms. Y/L/N looked up and gave a wave as well, albeit a little less vigorous. She closed the book and turned her torso slightly to unzip Michael’s backpack and drop the book into it.

Spencer put the car in park, stepped out, and walked around the car to meet the two of them. Michael was already up and running, throwing himself at Spencer’s legs and hugging them tightly. He leaned down to return the hug. “Hey, buddy! How was school?”

“It was _amazing_ ,” Michael gushed, pulling out of the hug to gesture wildly. “We learned how to write the _zzz_ sound, and now we know all the sounds! Oh, and then we used blocks in math, and that was so fun, because Ms. Y/L/N let us build with them when we were done counting. Oh, and then we learned about _frogs_ , and they are so _cool_. Did you know that frogs have night vision? Oh, _and_ Ms. Y/L/N said I could borrow my favorite book from the classroom library! She read it to me already while we were waiting for you, but maybe you could read it to me, too? I can read some of the words but not all of them yet, so I still need some help.”

Spencer smiled widely at him. “Wow, that does sound like an amazing day. I did know that about frogs, actually! And of course, I’d love to read with you.”

“The book’s called _Giraffe Problems_ , and it’s about this giraffe named Edward who doesn’t like his neck.” Michael looked at Ms. Y/L/N. “What’s the turtle’s name again?”

“Cyrus,” Ms. Y/L/N reminded him.

“Right, Cyrus.” He looked at Spencer. “See, that one is tricky because c’s don’t usually make the _sss_ sound, but sometimes they do. Ms. Y/L/N’s teaching me about it, even though she said it’s kinda hard for kindergarten.”

“Because you’ve got a big, powerful brain, right?” she said, tapping her temple and winking at Michael. “I’m Ms. Y/L/N, by the way. You must be the infamous uncle Spencer. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then she smiled at him and his big, powerful brain melted inside of his skull.

Michael continued talking, and Spencer briefly wondered if this is how people felt when he rambled. Michael lost his attention immediately, because all he could do was stare at Ms. Y/L/N. Her eyes glinted with humor as he chattered on. She followed his expressive motions with well-timed nods and _mhmms_ , a skill she’d no doubt honed through years of indulging kindergarten babbling. She met Spencer’s eyes every so often, only a slight eyebrow raise indicating her amusement. Her hair had been tied back, but soft pieces had come loose throughout the day, falling into her face and around her shoulders. Up close, he could see that the print of her collared a-line dress was hundreds of green frogs. On her feet were a pair of beat up, low top converse, and Spencer thought he could physically feel the crush branding the chambers of his heart. He was jolted out of his thoughts by Michael’s hand tugging on his pant leg, and he looked down to see him looking up expectantly.

“Sorry, what?” Spencer asked him.

“I _said_ ,” Michael repeated with a sigh, “can we look up the author and see if he has any other books?”

“Oh, um, yeah. Of course, buddy.”

“Jory John has lots of amazing books,” Ms. Y/L/N confirmed. “You’ll love the series he wrote with Pete Oswald.” She smiled at the pair of them before checking her watch. “I’ve gotta go pack up, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Michael.” She winked at Spencer, and he almost swallowed his tongue. “It was nice meeting you, uncle Spencer.” She waved again and then turned up the stairs to disappear into the building.

Spencer let out a breath he didn’t even realize he’d been holding, and then turned to Michael. “Well. All right, are you ready to go home?”

…

They were settled into the car and halfway home before Michael finally needed to take a breath. Spencer capitalized on the break in conversation.

“So, Ms. Y/L/N seems pretty cool,” Spencer hedged.

“Yeah, she’s the best,” Michael confirmed with a nod. “On Fridays she lets us put on the smocks and paint. And she has really good story voices. Oh, and she also has these really cool blocks that stick together—magnet blocks. And when I fell off the jungle gym and got a big scrape, she gave me a Paw Patrol bandaid! And she gives great hugs.”

“Good story voices, huh?” Spencer met Michael’s eyes in the rearview mirror. “Better than mine?”

Michael tilted his head in deep thought. “Hmmmm. It’s pretty close. Your wizard voice is good, but she does accents.”

Spencer blew out a dramatic breath. “Guess I’m going to have to up my game.”

“You’re gonna have to practice _a lot_ , because Ms. Y/L/N reads to us every day.” Michael raised his eyebrows in a challenge.

“Hey!” Spencer looked incredulous. “I read every day, too!”

“Yeah, but do you read with _story voices_ every day?” Michael clarified.

Spencer sighed. “Well, I guess not.”

“It’s okay, uncle Spencer,” Michael soothed. “You can’t be the best at everything.”

“So they _are_ better than mine?”

Michael pressed his lips together, and Spencer almost laughed at how much he looked like JJ. “… maybe.”

…

A trail of shoes and school supplies led to the couch, where Spencer and Michael sat shoulder to shoulder. They were on their second read of _Giraffe Problems_. Spencer took a long, dramatic breath before launching into Cyrus’ banana speech, and Michael burst into a fit of giggles. With his best theatrical voice, Spencer read down the page. “Yet, day after day, I’ve felt like such a fool as I stretched my neck toward those greedy branches, only to be limited by my own physical shortcomings.” He flipped the page and changed his tone. “You… want a banana from a tree?” He looked at Michael and said, quickly and in a low voice, “That’s what I said, yes.” Michael wheezed out another laugh.

Spencer finished the story, Michael mouthing the words along with him. When they reached the last page, Spencer softly closed the book and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “That’s a pretty great story.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “Ms. Y/L/N said she likes it because it reminds us that we gotta love ourselves and our bodies for how they are.”

Spencer nodded. “Absolutely. We’re all different, and that’s what makes us special.”

“Yeah. I just really like when he’s wearing all the scarves.” Michael burst into another fit of laughter, and Spencer couldn’t help but laugh with him.

The front door opened, and Will was smiling as he stepped over the threshold. “I could hear y’all laughing all the way down the sidewalk.”

“Daddy!” Michael jumped up from the couch, and Will bent to scoop him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Hey, kiddo. Sorry I couldn’t pick you up. It sure sounds like you and uncle Spencer had fun, though.” He shot Spencer a wide smile.

“We read _Giraffe Problems_. Can we read it again later?” Michael asked.

“Sure thing. We can read it before bedtime.” Will set him down, furrowing his brow. “Wait, _Giraffe Problems_? Is that a new one?”

Henry shook his head. “Ms. Y/L/N let me borrow it from the library. I have to give it back in two weeks.”

“Man, Michael, you really lucked out, huh?” Will posited. “Ms. Y/L/N is so good to you.”

“Jeez, everybody’s saying that today,” Michael sighed. “Yes, Ms. Y/L/N is amazing, we all know this.”

“All right, sass monster. I didn’t know uncle Spencer thought she was amazing, too.” Will grinned. “We gotta go pick up Henry in a few minutes. I’ll get you a snack, and you can pick up your things?” He gestured to the mess of shoes and school supplies in the foyer.

Spencer smiled sheepishly. “That’s probably my fault. We were just so excited to read the book.”

“Ah yeah, I know how he gets.” Will crossed to the kitchen. “A one track mind, that one. Thanks again for picking him up today.”

Spencer stood from the couch and followed, hands stuffed in his pockets. “It’s no problem at all! I can do it any time.”

“Well, I don’t want to bother y—”

“It’s not a bother!” Spencer schooled his voice back into a normal register at Will’s raised eyebrow. “It—It’s not a bother at all. I, um— I have a lot of free time when I’m on sabbatical. Especially since I’m only teaching one course this semester. Plus, I love seeing the boys.”

“I’ll remember that.” Will smiled. “So… Ms. Y/L/N’s amazing, huh?”

Spencer just knew that his cheeks were as red as the apple Will was cutting up. He tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Yeah, she was— she was really nice.”

“She’s not bad looking, either,” Will supplied. When Spencer’s mouth fell open, Will continued, “What? JJ thinks so, too. Don’t tell me you didn’t even look, because I _know_ that’s a lie.”

Spencer sputtered, “I— well, I—”

“Daddy, can we get an ice-cream on the way home?” Michael interrupted, completely unfazed.

Will laughed. “Saved by the bell, uncle Spencer. Yeah, buddy, we can get ice-cream.”

…

“It’s not weird to look her up. I just want to know more about the person who’s educating my godson,” Spencer tried to reassure himself as he pulled up the school’s website. He scrolled to find the teacher pages, a little smile crossing his face when he saw Ms. Y/L/N’s picture— white ruffled shirt, red bow, and black hat. A perfect tribute to Mary Poppins.

He dropped his smile. “She barely said five sentences to you, and you didn’t say anything back.” His eyes wandered over the links on the side, landing on the About Me section. “But she did say she’d heard a lot about you, so it’s only fair that you get to know a little about her.” Against his better judgment, he clicked the page link. A photo of Ms. Y/L/N— grinning and holding a very distraught-looking black cat— popped up on the screen, and Spencer laughed aloud.

_I grew up on a farm outside of Fayetteville, NC before moving to Boston to complete my undergraduate degree. I moved to DC to earn my Master’s in Early Childhood Education, and I have been teaching here for 8 years! I love working with young learners, because children grow so much in their foundational years. Watching a child have a lightbulb moment is one of my greatest joys. When I’m not in the classroom, I love to read, travel, play scrabble, and spend time with my cat Roald (pronounced Roo-all)!_

Spencer scrolled through the pictures of Ms. Y/L/N and her students. There were pictures in their “smocks,” which Spencer discovered were really just old t-shirts. There was one of her in the middle of some very animated story telling, and another of a field trip to the zoo. In each one, the smiles beamed out through the computer screen in a digital portrait of unbridled joy, contagious even over the waves of the internet. Smiling to himself, he clicked on the tab labeled Teaching Philosophy.

_I believe that every child is an extraordinary and essential piece of our classroom puzzle. In order to nurture the unique individuality of each of my students, I work hard to make our classroom a safe, positive, and supportive community where students are given the space to express themselves. Our classroom culture is also one of kindness and creativity, where each individual is valued and celebrated for who they are!_

Spencer swallowed the unexpected lump in his throat as he thought back on his own school career. While his teachers had always appreciated his intelligence, he honestly couldn’t recall a moment where he had felt valued for just… being himself. The majority of his time in school had been spent unsuccessfully fending off bullies, completing other students’ homework, or being gawked at like some sort of alien. He was grateful that Michael would hopefully never go through anything like what he’d experienced; at least not while Ms. Y/L/N was around.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he leaned back in the desk chair to pull it out. He swiped it open to read the incoming text.

_JJ: So……… you like Ms. Y/L/N, huh?_ 😉😉😉

**Spencer: What?! Did Will tell you that? I didn’t say that.**

_JJ: Some things you don’t have to say out loud, Spence._


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reader has developed a crush of her own. Spencer is easily convinced to be the next guest reader. The technophobe does email.
> 
> Warnings/Includes: none
> 
> a/n: wow thank you all so much for the love on the last part! I’m so excited for you all to see where this goes. I’m giving you this part a little early because I already had it written, but going forward I’ll probably stick to posting on Fridays!

“Whoa! Everybody freeze.” Y/N held her hands up in the universal stop gesture. Twenty small bodies stumbled to a stop, trembling with the effort to hold still. “Our noise level is at a ten, and right now I need it to be a four. We’re running way behind because Ms. Y/L/N lost track of time.” She held her hand up and counted on her fingers as she listed the afternoon to-dos. “Smocks need to get put back into the Smock Box. Desk caddies need to be straightened up. Jackets and backpacks need to be zipped up and on our bodies. Then our walking feet need to take us to our line spots. Capisce?”

Twenty hands brought their fingers to their thumbs, shaking their _ma che vuoi_. “Capisce!”

She waved her hand. “Okay, everybody thawed.”

They just barely made it out to the carpool loop in time, Y/N waving wild air traffic controller arms to navigate the line of kindergarteners to their spot. Dismissal was a blur. She waved to minivans and SUVs, zipping up rogue backpacks and hooking her finger into the collar of one friend that swayed a little too close to the curb. After the main vehicle surge dissipated, she saw a familiar blue Volvo pulling around the loop. The corners of her mouth twitched up, and she nudged Michael. “Look who’s here.”

Spencer pulled to a stop in front of the pair of them, and Michael bounded across the sidewalk. He pulled the door open and hopped in the backseat. Y/N leaned down and rested her forearm on the open window. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think the LaMontagnes had been kidnapped.” Spencer blushed, and Y/N was pretty sure she’d never get sick of seeing that pretty pink on his cheeks. He’d been picking Michael up at least twice a week for the past two weeks. It was getting to the point where she was disappointed to see one of the LaMontagnes’ dark SUVs.

“It’s um— it’s just nice to be able to help Will and JJ out,” Spencer explained.

“I’m sure they appreciate it.” She glanced at Michael in the backseat, his little head not so subtly jerking toward his uncle and his eyebrows raised. Y/N grinned at him before turning back to Spencer. “So… a little birdy told me that you’ve been practicing your story voices.”

He turned slightly in his seat to give Michael a look. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed. She tilted her head, considering him. “Would you be interested in being a guest reader?”

Spencer tapped his fingers rapidly on the steering wheel, and Y/N held his gaze. He had such gorgeous eyes, all golden and glimmering. “What exactly does being a guest reader entail?”

“Well, there’s really only two requirements. Number one, you gotta be nice. Room 105 only invites nice people to be guest readers. Number two—”

“You have to have good story voices,” Michael finished.

Y/N chuckled and gestured in agreement. “I think you tick off both boxes. So, no pressure,” she put her hands out in a placating gesture, “but if you’re interested, just—”

“I’m interested,” he hastily confirmed. Michael pumped his fist and silently cheered.

Y/N gave Spencer a wide smile, and there was that blush she loved so much. “Great! Are you free next Friday?”

Spencer nodded. “As far as I know.”

“Perfect. Shoot me an email from the school website, and I’ll send you the details.” She held out her fist into the backseat, and Michael bumped it with his own. “Have a great weekend, kiddo.” She held it out to Spencer and grinned when he bumped it, too. “You, too, Spencer.” He gave a little wave and turned his lips up in a small smile, and her heart fluttered so hard she thought it might grow wings.

As she stood and turned back toward the building, an arm slung around her shoulders. “So, Y/L/N, who’s the hottie?” Anita Lopez wiggled her eyebrows at her, pulling her toward the school.

“Oh my _god_ , could you keep it down?” Y/N muttered, shooting a glance at the blue Volvo pulling away.

Her coworker cackled. “I’m not the one giving Michael’s uncle bedroom eyes.”

“I absolutely did _not_ give him—” she dropped her voice before continuing, “bedroom eyes.”

“Well, you better rectify that soon, because that man is fifty shades of fine.” Anita dropped her arm from around Y/N’s shoulders and made a fanning motion.

“You’re married!” Y/N laughed.

“Sure, but I’m not blind.” Anita widened her eyes. “He’s _hot_. And he’s interested.”

“He is not,” Y/N insisted, wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans. “He’s just… very nice.”

Anita looked at her pointedly. “He’s been picking Michael up almost every single day.”

“It’s only like, every other day,” Y/N corrected.

“Oh, so you _are_ paying attention.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Anita put up her hands in mock surrender. “Look, all I’m saying is, if you don’t mack on that man, I will never forgive you. I love my wife and kids and our domestic life. But right now, I’m living vicariously through you. And uncle Spencer is a _whole_ snack— an entree, if you will.”

The laugh caught in Y/N’s throat when she caught a glimpse of herself in the glass of the door. Her eyes almost bugged out of her head. Over the course of the afternoon, she’d collected a handful of various paint brushes— all of which were stuck into the hair that she’d pulled into a very unappealing bun. She had blue paint on her nose, her wrinkled shirt had come half-untucked at some point, and she had a small, orange handprint right underneath her boob.

“ _Oh my god_.” Y/N looked down and pulled the fabric of her shirt out to examine the handprint, utterly mortified. “Why did no one tell me this is what I looked like?!” Y/N gestured frantically up and down at herself.

“Chill, it’s endearing. You’re really working the whole frazzled kinder teacher thing.” Anita held the door open for her. “And Spencer definitely thought it was cute.”

Y/N walked through the door and ran a hand over her face, trying to rub the blue paint off. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. There are rules against fraternizing with relatives.”

“Okay well, I’m 99.9% sure the handbook doesn’t say anything about hot uncles,” Anita posited.

“Well, I have a date tonight anyway, so.”

Anita rolled her eyes and made a wide gesture with her hands. “Ah, yes, the knight in shining armor from the far away land of Tindershire.”

Y/N barked out a laugh. “You’re _incredibly_ rude.”

Anita turned to walk backwards away from her down the hallway, grinning at her. “You know you love it, Y/L/N!”

…

“So, what do you do for work?” Y/N asked. The date hadn’t been a total disaster so far, but the conversation left a lot to be desired.

“I work in political consulting,” Eric replied.

“Oh cool!” Y/N rested her chin in her hand. “So does that mean you help build party platforms and stuff?”

“Yeah, sometimes. I mostly work on the social media and mailing strategy though.” He looked over the menu. “Targeting people through Instagram and Facebook, making sure they have exposure to the candidate.”

“Gotcha, gotcha.” Y/N glanced over the menu as well, even though she’d already made her decision in the Uber on the way over. She cleared her throat, glancing up briefly from her menu to see that Eric was still perusing. She resigned herself to the fact that he was not going to ask about her. “I’m a kindergarten teacher. Today I left work covered in fingerpaint,” she laughed. “Never a dull moment.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I bet you love being a teacher. All the holidays and summers off. Getting out of work at 2:00 every day. ”

She bristled at the patronization in his voice. “Yeah, I do love it. It’s really hard some days, but it’s worth it to see how much the kids grow and change by the end of the year.”

“You teach kindergarten, right?” He snorted out a laugh. “I’d imagine that’s a lot easier than teaching older kids.”

She screamed internally but plastered on a smile. “Actually, that’s a common misconception. Colleagues routinely tell me there’s no way they’d survive a day in kindergarten. Sure, the content might not be as challenging, but for a lot of kids, it’s their first time socializing with anyone outside their family. I’m basically teaching them how to be humans. There’s lots of tears, homesickness, bathroom accidents, the occasional kicking and screaming temper tantrum. Their attention span is usually about five or six minutes, tops. So, we might have to stop and move our bodies three or four times over the course of a twenty minute lesson. Not to mention that, developmentally, some of them still have oral fixations. So sometimes my days are spent politely reminding them that we don’t nibble our friends or lick the walls.”

Eric stared at her. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” She smiled sweetly. “But there’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

…

Y/N pulled her sweater up around her neck against the chilly October evening. She’d opted to walk home to burn off her irritation. She took her phone out of her jacket pocket and shot off a text to Anita.

_Y/N: Okay, so he was decidedly not prince charming._

**Anita: Send the peasant back from whence he came.**

_Y/N: Lmao. I’m deleting all my dating apps._

**Anita: …and asking uncle Spencer to the ball.**

_Y/N:_ 🤫😖🙃

Just as she was about to put her phone away, a banner came over the top of the screen. She almost dropped the phone at the name on the notification. She double tapped the banner to open the email, stopping dead in the middle of the sidewalk to read it.

_Spencer Reid_

_Re: Guest Reader_

_Ms. Y/L/N,_

_I’m writing to follow up about the details of the guest reader opportunity. I’m definitely interested, and my calendar is free next Friday. Would that still work for you? If so, should I pick the book, or did you have one in mind? What time would you need me to come in? I’m free all day._

_Let me know whatever you need me to do._

_Warmest regards,_

_Spencer Reid (Michael’s uncle)_

_P.S. Is your cat named after Roald Dahl?_

_P.P.S. I loved reading about your teaching philosophy._

Y/N read his post-scripts four times before it sunk in that he had actually looked through her website. Closely enough to catch Roald’s name and to appreciate— or rather _love_ her teaching philosophy. She huffed out a breath as she typed her reply, reeling herself back in. He was definitely just being friendly to his nephew’s teacher.

**Y/N Y/L/N**

**Re: Re: Guest Reader**

**Hi Spencer!**

**That’s perfect! We usually have our guest readers come in around 2:00pm. This gives us all time to get settled, have our snack (I’ll provide this! Do you have any dietary restrictions?), and then have some time for discussion and questions after the story.**

**You can choose the book! Any picture book is fine. If you could also think of four clues to give the kids throughout the week (about the book), that would be great.**

**We’ll see you on Friday!**

**Y/N**

**p.s. Yes, he is!**

**p.p.s Thank you so much. You have no idea how much that means to me.**

**p.p.p.s Please keep my first name on the DL.**

—

_Y/N,_

_I’ll plan to be there at 2:00pm. I have no real dietary restrictions, although I do have a slight sensitivity to dairy. Thank you for asking._

_I’ve got the perfect book in mind. I’ll brainstorm some clues this weekend and send them your way._

_See you soon,_

_Spencer_

_P.S. I love that. What’s your favorite Roald Dahl book?_

_P.P.S. I imagine that your philosophy means a lot to your students as well. Not everyone encourages and nurtures things they think are different._

_P.P.P.S. What does DL mean?_

—

**Can’t wait to see what book you’ve chosen. ☺️**

**Favorite Roald Dahl book is a challenge… but I think I have to go with _James and the Giant Peach_. It was his first children’s book, and it’s a bit darker than some of his other works, but it’s still fantastical, hilarious, and generally brilliant.**

**People who don’t nurture and support every child shouldn’t be teaching.**

**DL stands for “down low.” As in, don’t go snitching to all my kiddos about my first name. 😉**

—

_Ah! Of course. I’ll guard your secret with my life._

_I had a few of those teachers myself._

James and the Giant Peach _is a great choice. I think I love_ Matilda _the best. I relate to her love of books and magic._

_“So Matilda’s strong young mind continued to grow, nurtured by the voices of all those authors who had sent their books out into the world like ships on the sea. These books gave Matilda a hopeful and comforting message: You are not alone.”_

—

**Man, Matilda really is the best, isn’t she? Books truly are worlds of their own. And we could all use a little righteous magic in our lives.**

**I’m sorry that you went through that. If I could, I’d go back in time and drive all your Trunchbulls straight out of the profession.**

**And thank you for keeping my secret.**

—

_Indeed we could._

_It’s in the past now. But I appreciate that. I have no doubt that you’re more akin to Miss Honey._

_And you’re welcome._

…

“It’s not weird to look him up. He knows a bunch of stuff about you.” Y/N looked around her empty apartment as if someone would pop out of nowhere and catch her snooping. A quick google search found one _Dr._ Spencer Reid, FBI agent and guest lecturer at George Washington University. Three degrees she could comprehend, but the six listed in his university bio were on another level.

“You’re outta your league, Y/L/N.” Y/N rested her chin in her hand as she read through his bio. Spencer Reid already had those three doctorates under his belt by the time he joined the FBI at the ripe old age of 22. Las Vegas born and on his own since before he could drive. He’d worked at the Bureau’s Behavioral Analysis Unit for fifteen years— still worked there as far as she could tell. Michael told her that his uncle Spencer worked with his mom, who she knew still worked for the BAU. She clicked back over to the search results and skimmed over the abstracts of multiple research papers that made her brain feel like mush.

_Y/N: Okay but this guy is like… a literal genius._

**Anita: Ooooooh, tell me more about hot uncle Spencer.**

_Y/N: You gotta drop the uncle part. It sounds so creepy._

**Anita: Fine. Spill it. ☕️**

_Y/N: He has six degrees. Three of them are PhDs._ 😳😰

**Anita: So it’s hot DOCTOR Spencer??????** 🥵🥵🥵

_Y/N: Dr. Reid, apparently._

**Anita: I REPEAT: IF YOU DO NOT MAKE OUT WITH THIS MAN, I WILL NEVER SPEAK TO YOU AGAIN.**

_Y/N: That’s not even remotely true. Who would you gossip to?_

**Anita: …fine. But I will be VERY ANGRY.** 😡🤬

…

On Monday morning, Y/N stifled a yawn as she flicked on the lights in her classroom. She set her coffee and bag down before moving through the room and getting ready for the day. She opened up her laptop and pulled up some Chopin for their morning routine. The music thrummed through the speakers as she double checked that all the pencils were sharpened and crayon buckets were full. Humming along, she pulled her lesson plans from her folder and sat down to her desk to briefly look them over before the students arrived.

“I’m warning you.” Y/N jumped at the sound of Anita’s voice in the doorway.

“Jesus,” she huffed. “You’re gonna give a girl a heart attack.”

Anita continued, “If you don’t even attempt to get jiggy with the good doctor—”

“You’re aging yourself. No one says getting jiggy anymore.” The PA system dinged to alert them to the morning message from their principal. “Go teach some smelly middle schoolers and leave me alone.”

Y/N’s phone chimed with a new email message as Anita rolled her eyes and made a face at her before disappearing from the doorway.

_Spencer Reid_

_Re: Clues_

_Y/N,_

_Happy Monday! Did you know that the name for Monday comes from the Old English word Mōnandæg and the Middle English Monenday? The original Latin translation comes from the phrase dies lunae meaning day of the Moon. The seven-day week traces all the way back to the Babylonians, and the names of the weekdays are references to Roman, Germanic, and Norse gods. Monday was named for Máni, the Norse personification of the moon._

_Anyway, here are the clues for you and the kids:_

_1\. The characters in this story are all things we can eat._

_2\. This story teaches us that you never know what someone has gone through to get to where they are, so you should always be kind._

_3\. This story reminds us that we can choose to be our best selves, even though it might be hard work._

_4\. The main character of this story is legume adjacent._

_I hope these are okay. I’m really looking forward to it._

_Spencer_

_P.S. I read_ Matilda _again this weekend. You’re definitely a Miss Honey._


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spencer is an excellent guest reader. Mutual pining ensues. Reader invites him to the Halloween parade.
> 
> Warnings/Includes: none
> 
> a/n: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the feedback on the last part and on the thanksgiving fic. Keep the fluff and happiness of that one and these early parts in ur heart because I mapped out the top of the arc of this series and it’s gonna be a lil sad, y’all.

When Michael told Y/N that Spencer had been practicing his story voices, he wasn’t kidding. He spent the entire week reading and rereading the book aloud, though he knew the entire thing by heart after the second read through. He kept playing with the tone and cadence of his voice, trying his lower register and then switching to a falsetto, whispering and then using his full chest voice.

He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t stop himself. He perfected the delivery of each line as a sort of coping mechanism to combat the almost debilitating crush that had now become full blown pining. Being on sabbatical had not helped matters, the absence of BAU cases allowing Y/N to permeate even the deepest corners of his mind, taking up space and not bothering to pay rent.

He had picked Michael up from school eight times, and that had been more than enough to determine that Y/N was exactly the kind of person he’d love being around. She was funny and kind, and she spoke to her students with a respect and attentiveness that many adults would not. Where he’d watched other adults listen half heartedly or wave children off, Y/N always got down on their level, listened intently, and responded with enthusiasm.

She was so, so pretty in a way that just _was_. He’d reread Roald Dahl’s entire body of work that weekend and found a quote from _The Twits_ that summed it up quite well: “If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely.” Y/N was just _good_ , and that goodness radiated off of her with such intense warmth that he couldn’t help but feel good, too.

Perhaps the most lovely thing about Y/N was that she wasn’t afraid to be a little bit outside the box. Whether it was the paintbrushes in her hair; the bold, bright patterns on her dresses; or the rainbow striped sneakers on her feet, she was always on just the right side of eccentricity. As someone who was known for his own anomalous ways, he couldn’t help but admire the abject confidence she walked with— even if it was only down the sidewalk of Michael’s school.

On Friday morning, Spencer was equal parts nauseated and excited. He changed his clothes four times, eventually settling on trousers and a white button up with black polka dots, a soft purple cardigan layered over top. He milled around the apartment for the better part of the day, treating himself to a pour over, straightening up an already organized desk, and half heartedly looking over student essays from his lecture.

At 1:00, he set his mug in the sink and headed to his bedroom to check over his outfit one more time. His wardrobe certainly wasn’t as vibrant as Y/N’s, but the purple was bright and the polka dots were as fun as he could find. His Chuck Taylors had been relegated to the back of the closet as of late, but not today. He smiled as he dug them out, pulling them on over mismatched socks.

He made it all the way to his car before realizing he’d left the book on the kitchen table. By the time he’d made it back to the Volvo, it was 1:30 and he was out of breath. He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or stressed that he only had half an hour to get himself together. He tapped the steering wheel incessantly during the drive, completely off tempo from the Bach he’d put on to try to calm himself.

He pulled into the parking lot of the school at 1:48 and sat in his car until 1:55, watching the clock tick up. There was no reason to be this nervous; Y/N had already proven herself to be a real life Miss Honey. She would undoubtedly be as sweet and wonderful as ever. And he was usually good with kids. They tended to be less bothered by the quirks that adults found strange. But he still had to steel himself in the rearview mirror before hoisting himself out of the car.

He closed and locked the car, taking one more second to check his appearance in the reflection of the window, tucking a few rogue curls into place. Then he made his way to the double doors, the book clutched in his sweaty hands. He pressed the doorbell and waited quietly. The door buzzed open and he entered the building, stopping at the front desk.

“How can I help you, sir?” The woman behind the desk smiled brightly at him, all frizzy grey curls and horn-rimmed glasses.

“I, um— I’m Spencer Reid. I’m— Ms. Y/L/N invited me to be her guest reader.” He wiped his palm on his pant leg as she gestured to the sign-in book.

“All right, sweetheart, just sign in there on the book for me. Her room number is—”

“105,” Spencer finished, picking up the pen.

She raised a single, pencil thin eyebrow at him. “Why yes, sir, it is. Let me just call down there and make sure she’s ready.” She picked up the phone in front of her, balancing it between her ear and shoulder and dialing, using her free hand to write on a visitor sticker. “Ms. Y/L/N? It’s Linda— just making sure you’re ready for Mr. Reid?” She paused a second and peered up at Spencer over the top of her glasses. “Oh yes, _Doctor_ Reid. All right, I’ll send him down to you.” She hung up the phone and handed him the visitor pass, a small smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Just make sure you display that on your person at all times, Dr. Reid. You’re headed right down this hallway, she’s the third door on the left.”

Spencer thanked her and pressed the sticker over his racing heart, turning down the hallway and running his free hand over his hair. As he approached the third door, he could hear music playing— something he didn’t recognize but that was _very_ loud and full of frenetic energy. He came to a stop just outside of the door, opting to wait until the song was over before entering.

Y/N was in the middle of a frenzied dance party, singing along as [the song](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DlL7M6yQxW9c&t=MmJmNGQ1MmJhOTVhNDRmYTJjZmE5YTkwNjczNWFiYTI2OThkODg2OSw5ODAxY2MxMDUxYThmMmQ4NjUwMTgyMWJiM2FkOTQwNmE1OTQxMTZl&ts=1607226617) demanded they all get loose and funky. From what he could see, most of the twenty kindergartners were, indeed, getting loose. Y/N was smiling from ear to ear, hair pulled back in a rainbow scrunchie and cheeks flushed with humor and exertion. She was dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, but she maintained her signature flair with a pair of sequined platform converse. The song came to a close, much to the chagrin of the class.

“Phew, okay, my loose, funky friends,” Y/N bellowed, dramatically wiping imaginary sweat from her brow. “I need all of us in our seats for snack by the time my fingers are gone!” She held her arms up in the air, ten fingers stretched out and wiggling. Then, she slowly and silently put her fingers down, one by one. Like magic, Spencer watched as every child began shuffling back to their seats, panting and grinning and chattering quietly.

Spencer knocked on the open door, and Y/N turned at the sound. She gestured him into the room, smiling. “Right on time, it’s our guest reader! Everyone say hello to Dr. Reid!”

“ _Hellooooooo, Dr. Reid_ ,” the class sang.

Michael bounded up to him and grabbed his hand. “Come sit at my table,” he demanded. Spencer looked to Y/N who nodded her approval. He followed Michael to one of the tiny tables, one adult sized chair ready for him next to Michael’s small one. 

“Wow, kindergarten, that was _excellent,_ ” Y/N gushed, eyes moving over all the little bodies in their seats. “Everyone used their safe feet and their quiet voices, and we all made it to our seats before the fingers were gone. Y’all are becoming such experts.” She moved to the kidney table and pulled a bag of clementines out of a grocery bag. “Our Friday snack is cuties for all my cuties!” The class giggled and she grinned at them and scrunched her nose. “Hmm, my helpers today were Lily and Dashawn, right?”

Spencer watched as Lily and Dashawn got up from their seats, took a palmful of hand sanitizer, and then moved to Y/N’s table. “Okay, Lily. Can you pass out to red and yellow table? Dashawn, how about blue and green table? Thank you so much, my loves.”

“This is my uncle Spencer,” Michael told the students at his table, and Spencer adjusted in his seat and waved. “This is Paul, Kayla, and Kingston. Lily sits with us, too.”

“Hi, guys,” Spencer greeted, smiling. Lily reached their table with the clementines, and Spencer thanked her and took the offered fruit. He began peeling the rind, and three sets of little fingers broke into their own oranges.

Michael chatted to him excitedly, and Spencer listened while surreptitiously watching Y/N. She flitted around the room, picking up stray pencils and putting away a few loose toys. She positioned a rocking chair in front of the rug of rainbow squares, turned off the projector, and raised the pull-down screen. She turned and caught his gaze, and he could feel his cheeks heating up as she approached him. “Hi.”

“Hi!” Y/N grinned at him. “I like your shoes.” She tapped his converse with her own.

“Thanks! I used to wear them all the time.” He paused a moment before pressing on. “You inspired me to dig them back out of the closet.” He loved the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled at him.

“Glad to hear it! Chucks never go out of style.”

“Did you know that they were originally basketball shoes?” Spencer gestured with his clementine. “Chuck Taylor played semi-professional basketball before he became a traveling shoe salesman with the Converse Rubber Shoe Company. He also ran basketball clinics and trained athletes, but he was kind of a terrible trainer.” He grinned at her raised eyebrow. “He used to have the players wear special weighted shoes during practice, the idea being that they would cause the players to exhibit faster speed and more agile jumps during games when the extra weight was removed.”

“I take it that didn’t work,” Y/N hedged.

“Nope.” He bared his teeth in a half grimace. “Just gave all the players hamstring injuries.”

“Yikes,” she laughed.“Whenever I put mine on, I’ll do a little hammy stretch in their honor.” She demonstrated the stretch and Spencer laughed. She put her hands on her hips. “I have to tell you, we are so excited for your story. I don’t think any of us have figured it out.”

He furrowed his brow. “Were the clues too hard?”

“No, no!” Y/N assured him. “They were perfect. Got us thinking, broadened our vocabulary a little bit. And besides, who doesn’t love a little suspense?”

He held his book up for her to see the title. “I, um, took you up on a previous recommendation. I hope they haven’t heard it yet.”

Spencer watched as she read the title, confusion, remembrance, and then surprise crossing over her face. “I can’t believe you remembered that.”

“He remembers everything,” Michael said proudly.

“Everything?” Y/N asked, eyebrows raised.

“ _Not_ everything,” Spencer clarified. “I have an eidetic memory. It’s sort of like a photographic memory, but only the things I read.” He didn’t add that the reason he remembered the book was because every conversation they’d ever had was on repeat in his mind like a well-worn favorite film.

“That’s really, really cool,” Y/N remarked. “I’m sure it was helpful while you were earning all those degrees.” Spencer opened his mouth and then closed it, as Y/N’s eyes went wide. “Um, I looked you up. That— that sounds creepier than it is. I— it was just a quick Google search, and then the university website came up, and so I read your bio on there.” She made a face and tapped her hands on her legs. “I guess that doesn’t really sound less creepy, huh? I just— well, I—”

A voice interrupted, calling out, “Ms. Y/L/N, I really have to go poop!” Y/N pressed her lips together and closed her eyes. She opened them to look at the source of the voice, a little boy wiggling quite vigorously in his seat. “Sorry for yelling, but I was showing you my bathroom signal, and you didn’t see it, and I really have to p—”

“Ohhh- _kay_ , got it.” She gave him a salute. “I’m sorry I missed your signal, sweetheart. You can go. Thank you for waiting.” He scrambled up from his seat and to the door.

Y/N turned back toward Spencer, her eyes up to the ceiling and then closed for one long moment. Her lashes fanned out over the tops of her cheeks, which were overwhelmed by a very pretty flush. When she opened her eyes, he assured her, “I don’t think it’s creepy.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Well that’s a relief. This afternoon could have been super awkward.” She laughed again, a little wobbly, but continued, “Three PhDs is quite the accomplishment, Dr. Reid. If I had even _one_ PhD, you’d never hear the end of it.”

Spencer watched the way her eyes couldn’t stay still for very long, relieved that he wasn’t the only one feeling nervous. “And you’d be right to be proud. They’re quite a bit of work. But you don’t need to use the honorific. Spencer is fine.”

She gave him a grateful grin. “Okay, Spencer. Well, I was going to have Michael give you a little introduction, and then you’re on.” She turned her attention to Michael. “You ready to give your intro?”

“Psh, I was born ready,” Michael asserted, gathering up the peel of his clementine.

“Well, excuse me,” she chuckled. “The stage is yours, sir.” She pressed the button of a white remote hanging from her lanyard, and a doorbell sound came from somewhere in the back of the room. Twenty sets of eyes locked on Y/N. “All righty, kindergarten. We’re just about ready! In rainbow order, I need my tables to throw away their garbage and then tiptoe to their rug spot. When everybody’s showing rug rules, Michael’s going to introduce our guest reader.”

Michael stood to throw away his clementine peel. “Okay, go sit in the rocking chair. I’ll be there as soon as I’m done cleaning up.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows and stifled a laugh. “In other words, chop chop, uncle Spencer.”

Spencer stood and moved to the rocking chair, suddenly nervous again as he felt dozens of little eyes on him. The children moved quickly and quietly to the rug, sitting with their legs crossed in their rainbow squares. All except one.

Spencer watched as Y/N zoned in on the one little boy with his head down at his table. She padded over to the table and quietly crouched down, speaking lowly. After half a minute or so, the boy picked up his head and turned it toward her. Spencer watched as she smiled at him and tilted her head to the side. She said something else, and the boy cracked a smile.

Y/N brought the fingers of her right hand to her lips, then brought them down in the palm of her left hand before drawing a question mark in the air. The boy nodded, and Y/N gave him a thumbs up. He wrapped his arms around himself and then drew a question mark. She smiled and opened her arms, drawing him in for a hug. He tucked his head over her shoulder and she swayed him back and forth a couple times. Spencer’s heart panged at the tenderness she gave so freely. When she pulled away, she held out her hand to the boy before standing.

He grabbed Y/N’s hand, and they walked to the rug together. She went to release him, but he tugged on her and pointed at the carpet. He held two fingers horizontally and brought two fingers from his other hand down vertically over top of them, and then pointed at Y/N. She nodded and held up one finger to him before surveying the rest of the rug.

“Kindergarten, this rug looks so beautiful,” she said, placing a hand over her heart. She spoke slowly and calmly, bringing the energy of the classroom back down from their dance and snack high. “I love how my friends are sitting criss cross, making sure their neighbors have enough space. I love how our hands are in our laps so they don’t accidentally get stepped on.” She tapped her lips and then her ear. “I know we’re going to keep using our listening ears while Spencer reads us the story. I’m going to sit right next to Evan on the carpet, so I’ll be watching to make sure.” She smiled at Michael. “Whenever you’re ready, Michael.” Y/N sat down in one of the rainbow squares, and Evan grabbed her hand.

Michael gestured with outstretched arms at Spencer. “This is my uncle Spencer. He works for the FBI, and he’s also a magician.” There were some _oooooohs_ from the crowd, Y/N included. “He knows lots of stuff, he remembers _almost_ everything, and he has really good story voices. He’s going to read _The Bad Seed_. A round of applause for the guest reader!” The class clapped their hands in a circular motion. Michael tiptoed across the carpet and sat quickly in his rug square.

Spencer cleared his throat and made brief eye contact with Y/N. She gave him a warm smile while Evan leaned his head on her arm. He gave the class a little wave. “Hi, guys.”

“ _Hiiii, Spencerrrrrr_ ,” the class sang.

“Like Michael said, I’m going to be reading a story called _The Bad Seed_. It’s written by Jory John and illustrated by Pete Oswald.” Spencer held up the book so they could all see the cover. “Has anyone ever heard the phrase ‘bad seed’?” A couple hands raised. “Okay, a few of you. When we refer to someone as a ‘bad seed,’ that usually means that we think they’re a bad person by nature. That means they can’t help but be bad. Do you think that’s true? Is anyone just bad for no reason?”

“Maleficent was real bad,” piped up a little voice.

“Yeah, but that’s only because King Stefan was super mean and broke her heart and took her wings,” said another.

“Mmmmm,” Spencer hummed. “So… sometimes people are bad because bad things happened to them?”

“Probably most bad people went through bad stuff.”

Spencer nodded. “I think that’s a good assumption. Everyone experiences some sad things in their lives, and sometimes that changes people.” Spencer tapped the cover of the book. “This story is all about a bad seed. Maybe while we’re listening, we can be thinking about whether he was always a bad seed, why he’s such a bad seed, and whether or not he changed.” He opened the book, flipping to the first page. “Ready?” At their excited nods, he continued, “I’m a bad seed.” He lowered his voice as low as it would go. “A baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad seed.”

As she listened to Spencer read, Y/N was as enraptured as the kids. Michael was right about his story voices. He was animated and theatrical, not afraid to squeak up into his higher register or pull his chin back to bring out a deeper tone. His long arms stretched to pan the book for all their captivated eyes to see every picture. He pointed out small details in the illustrations that they might have missed. He gave the kids space to groan over gross things ( _“I never wash my hands. Or my feet.”_ ) and ponder their predictions. He paused every few pages to ask a question or think out loud. When he finished the story, he closed the book and held the cover up.

“So what do we think? Was he always a bad seed?” Spencer looked out over the sea of raised hands. He glanced a little desperately at Y/N, and she held back a laugh.

“Wow, look all these quiet hands. I can tell so many friends were listening so carefully,” Y/N praised. “Samiya, what do you think? Was he always bad?”

“No! He was a nice seed, and he had a family, and they were happy.”

“So then what made him become a bad seed?” Spencer asked.

Y/N peered around the carpet. “Ryan, we don’t usually hear from you, babe! What made him become a bad seed?”

“He lost his family. He looked sad when he was in the bag, but then he started being bad instead.”

“Hmmm. That’s really interesting,” Spencer remarked, turning back to the page in question, holding it up for them to see. “He looks sad, maybe even a little bit scared. But he didn’t act that way, did he? Sometimes when we’re feeling sad, or scared, or upset, it comes out like anger.”

“Because everybody was mean to him,” Evan piped up from next to Y/N. She tried to school the shock off her face at hearing his little voice. His own eyebrows shot up into his hairline when he realized he’d said it aloud, and he buried his face into her shoulder as she whispered, “You’re so right, buddy.”

Michael added, “Yeah, everybody was mean to him, so maybe that’s why he kept being bad.”

Spencer gave Y/N a small smile before adding, “I think you guys are right. Especially because he could hear people whispering about him, which probably didn’t make him feel very good at all. But at the end of the story, he decided something,” Spencer prompted, one eye on Y/N as she hugged an overwhelmed Evan.

“He wanted to be good!” Lily called out.

“He decided he wanted to be good,” Spencer confirmed. “He said, ‘I’m ready to be happy.’ Do you think it feels good to be angry and bad all the time?”

“ _Nooooooooo_ ,” the class cried in unison.

“No way,” Spencer agreed. “Sometimes it does feel good to get out your anger, or cry when you’re sad. But to feel that way all the time has gotta be pretty exhausting.” He looked up to see Y/N’s eyes fixed on him, bright and warm and so pretty. “So— so, what did the, um— what did the seed do to, um— to get better? Was he perfect?”

Y/N hugged Evan a little closer and hummed. “Kyle, was he perfect?”

“No, but he was trying his best.”

Spencer flipped to the page and held the illustration up. “He absolutely was trying his best. He was trying so hard! And that’s all we can do is try to be a little bit better every day.”

There was a moment of quiet as the class just stared at Spencer, and Y/N saw him start to fidget in the chair. She came to the rescue, asking the class, “Okay, kindergarten, is there anything else we want to ask? Anything we want to say to Spencer?”

“Your story voices are _amazing_ ,” a voice squeaked out.

“Well, thank you!” Spencer chuckled. “I’ve had many years of practice.”

“They might be better than Ms. Y/L/N’s,” Dashawn said.

A hush fell over the carpet, twenty sets of eyes turning to slowly look at Y/N. She looked out over their faces and almost laughed aloud at the shock and anticipation. There was truly no place on earth like kindergarten. She met Spencer’s eyes and he shrugged apologetically.

“Betrayed!” Y/N gasped and clutched her hand to her heart. The class burst into giggles. “I can’t believe you would dethrone _my_ story voices! I’m crushed, I tell you. Devastated.” She put her arm over her face. “I may never recover.” Evan patted her shoulder sympathetically. The giggles tapered off, and she lowered her arm. “On that note, it’s time for us to start packing up. We don’t want to be running late like last week.”

A flurry of groans rolled across the carpet. “I know, I know,” she agreed dramatically. “When we’re all packed up, maybe you can ask Spencer some more questions. Show me your best elephant stomps back to your seats, please and thank you!”

Spencer watched in amusement as they began stomping back to their tables. Y/N stood and he fiddled with the book jacket, more than a little bit enamored with her whole being.

“I have _never_ had a guest reader get such a rave review.” She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head. “You may just have to make a second appearance before the end of the year.”

His palms were sweating again. “I would love that. Seriously, any time. This was so much fun.”

She considered him carefully for a few seconds. “What are your thoughts on Halloween?”

“I _love_ Halloween!” He lowered his voice at her quiet laugh. “I— I love Halloween. It’s, um— it’s my favorite holiday.”

“Our Halloween parade is next Friday. Nothing fancy, we just wear our costumes and walk around the parking lot,” she clarified with a laugh. “But you’re welcome to come.”

“Oh.” He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck. This crush was going to kill him.

“If you’re busy—”

“No, no, I’m not,” he interrupted. “I’m not busy.”

“Well, maybe we’ll see you then,” she smiled. “Costumes are optional, but strongly encouraged.”

They spent the next few minutes zipping jackets and helping stack chairs to help the weekend custodians. When all the students were in line to dismiss, Y/N walked down the line with tootsie rolls, placing one in each quiet, outstretched hand. She circled back and held one out to Spencer as well. He took it with a grin, feeling electric when her fingers brushed his palm.

“Okay, we have three minutes before we have to head out,” Y/N told them, looking at the clock. “We can probably take four more questions for Spencer.” A few excited hands went up. “Malik, go ahead.”

“Do you really work at the FBI?”

“I do! I’m on sort of a vacation right now, but I work there most of the time. I’m part of a team that works to figure out why some people do bad things.”

“Like the seed?”

“Yeah, kind of like the seed,” Spencer admitted, holding up the book. “And most of the time, people who do bad things have had really, really sad experiences of their own, just like the seed.” He tucked his free hand into his pocket. “But I think it’s important to say that there are also lots of people who go through hard things and don’t become bad seeds.”

“Mmmm, yes,” Y/N agreed. “We talk about that a lot, don’t we, kindergarten? We have a choice in how we react to the things that happen to us,” Y/N reminded them. “Emily, what’s your question for Spencer?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Hmmm,” he hummed. “I like a lot of colors, but my favorite might be purple.”

Y/N smiled at his very soft purple cardigan and wondered if he would ever stop surprising her.

He turned and caught her gaze, and she knew if she looked for too long she’d forget there were twenty children in the room with them. She looked back to the quiet line. “What’s your question, Steph?”

“Do you have kids?”

Spencer smiled at Steph. “No, not yet.”

“Do you have a wife?”

“Nope.”

“Do you have a husband?”

“Nope.”

“Do you _want_ a wife or a husband?”

“Yeah, someday,” he answered, rocking up on his toes.

“Me, too,” Steph sighed, looking at him rather dreamily.

Y/N chuckled, hoping that her own painful crush wasn’t as obvious as Steph’s.

The intercom dinged with the afternoon announcement, and Y/N puffed out her cheeks and tapped on them. Spencer watched as each child puffed their own cheeks out, a physical representation of their silence. Y/N raised her hand and motioned twice toward the door, and the line of kids began to walk quietly out into the hallway. As she passed by him, she smiled through her chipmunk cheeks, and he puffed his own out in response. She gave him a thumbs up, squeezing out through the door to watch the front of the line.

Spencer followed them out to the parking lot, watching all the little faces light up as they saw their families. He received many waves, a few fist bumps, and one long hug from Steph. Y/N laughed aloud at that, a beautiful sound that he wanted to download to his mental hard drive so he could play it on repeat.

An older, red minivan pulled up and Y/N waved frantically before jogging over, closely followed by Evan. He pulled the sliding door open and hopped into the van, while Y/N gestured wildly to the woman in the driver’s seat. She held her hand out into the backseat for a high five, and Spencer caught the _so proud_ she nearly shouted into the van.

She stepped back from the van and waved them off, heading back over to the remaining students. When she saw Spencer’s expression, she explained, “Evan’s been selectively mute all year— minus the selective part. I mean, I’ve had kids who only spoke to other kids, but he hasn’t spoken a word to _anyone_. He talks a little at home, but mom said he’s pretty shy there, too.”

She tucked a loose piece of hair behind her ear, and Spencer ridiculously thought that even her ears were cute. “We’ve been doing the sign language thing, which is fine. I was actually starting to get used to the idea that I might never hear his voice.” She shoved her hands in her pockets and tilted her head. Her eyes were warm tea with honey when she said, “I guess there’s just… something about you, Spencer.”

His mouth was dry and his brain felt scrambled. “Well. He adores you. Anyone could see that. It was only a matter of time.”

She smiled softly at him. “I appreciate that. Sometimes when you’re in there by yourself, day in and day out, it’s— it’s hard to tell if what you’re doing is working.”

“It’s working.” Spencer held her gaze. “It’s definitely working. You’re an incredible teacher. The world could use more teachers like you.”

She looked at him for a second longer. “Thank you for saying that.”

Before he could respond, a blur of a woman swooped in on Y/N’s side. “Y/L/N, you gotta shoo these kids home. You’re always the last one out here. Are we still on to carpool? Mrs. Lopez needs her special grape juice. Needed it since 9:00AM to be honest.” Her eyes locked on Spencer, and he waved. She waved back, giving him a slow once over that made him feel strangely exposed.

“Spencer Reid, Anita Lopez,” Y/N introduced, gesturing her hand back and forth. “Yes, we’re still carpooling. Sorry that my babies want to hang out with me forever.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “How fast did yours head for the hills today?”

Anita scoffed. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, you got it all wrong. After today, _I’m_ the one headed for the hills. Maybe headed for a new career.”

Y/N gave her a pointed look. “You don’t mean that.”

“No, you’re right, I don’t. But middle school was _rough_ this week, okay. It’s a good thing you’re driving.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m gonna pack up. I’ll meet you in your room. See ya around, uncle Spencer.”

Spencer couldn’t formulate a response before she was trudging across the schoolyard. He looked at Y/N who was shaking her head, eyes closed. “Please just— ignore her.”

Spencer fidgeted with his hands over the book. “She seems… intriguing.”

Y/N barked out a laugh. “Yeah she’s intriguing all right.”

“I don’t want to keep you from your happy hour.” Spencer rubbed a hand down the back of his neck again, and Y/N thought she might like to do the same. “We’ve got to get going anyway. But I’ll talk to Will and JJ about the Halloween parade.”

“No pressure at all,” Y/N insisted. “Just an idea.”

“It’s a great idea.” He met her eyes and she thought she might spontaneously combust. “Thanks again for having me in,” he said, waving Michael over.

“We loved every second of it, didn’t we, Michael?” Y/N asked.

“Best. Day. Ever,” Michael confirmed.

“Have a great weekend, boys.” Y/N tucked her thumbs into her pockets to keep from doing something stupid, like actually rubbing her hand down Spencer’s neck. “See you next week.”

She met Spencer’s eyes again, golden and glittering in the afternoon sun, and yeah, she really did want to do something stupid.

She watched as they walked to the car, hand in hand. A text buzzed through on her phone, and she pulled it out.

**Anita: So, when’s the make out sesh?**

_Y/N: You keep saying this like it’s actually going to happen._

**Anita: Y/L/N.  
Anita: He wore a pair of converse.  
Anita: It’s true love.**

_Y/N:_ 🙄🙄🙄

**Anita: Deny all you want, but he was shooting you full on heart eyes in that carpool loop. Looking like a whole ass cartoon.**


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Halloween parade. Will and JJ are adorable. Anita suggests that Spencer become a classroom volunteer. Reader has a rough week.
> 
> Warnings/Includes: none
> 
> a/n: I wish we’d seen more of Will and JJ as parents because I imagine it would be adorable and hilarious. Let’s see if you can guess all of their costumes before the reveal lmao. Your only clue is that Spencer loves keeping with a theme and the brown vest makes an appearance.

“Did you grab the bags?” JJ swept the pleated, platinum braid out of her face as she bent over to zip up her boots.

“No, I thought you did,” Will called, bouncing down the stairs.

“I put them in the car already,” Spencer informed them, popping his head back in the front door. “There was just the one box, right?”

“Yeah, that was it,” Will confirmed. “Shit— where’s Michael’s sword?”

“Should be on the counter,” JJ huffed, standing up and adjusting the bodice of the blue dress.

“Got it.” Will came around the corner of the kitchen, patting his hips where his pockets would be— if he weren’t wearing an adult-sized onesie. “Keys?” Spencer held them up. “All right then, let’s get this show on the road.”

The trio headed to the waiting SUV, Spencer climbing into the backseat as Will and JJ got into the front. Will and JJ chattered on about dinner plans and schedules for the following week, and Spencer smoothed down the brown wool vest layered over his white linen shirt. He’d spent entirely too long putting together the costume over the last week (with a little help from Penelope). He’d scrapped the Spock getup he’d been working on since September— he could always wear that next year. But he’d only get one chance to attend the Room 105 Halloween parade, and once the idea had wormed its way into his brain, he had to make it happen.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Would you be able to pick Michael up on Monday?”

He ran his hands down his thighs over the mint green cropped trousers. “Sure, as long as we don’t have a case.”

Will smirked at him in the rear view mirror. “How’s Ms. Y/L/N?”

“You’re about to see her yourself, so you can ask,” Spencer replied.

Will laughed, and JJ turned in her seat. “Whoa, coming in hot with the snark. You really _do_ like her.”

Spencer fought and failed to keep the blush from rising, irritation at being teased blooming sharp inside his chest. He tried to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “She’s a great teacher.”

“That’s not a no,” JJ noted, eyebrows raised.

“She’s _Michael’s_ teacher,” Spencer said, like it meant something.

“Yeah, so?” Will shrugged his shoulders. “You’re his godfather. Technically, you’re not related, so it wouldn’t be breakin’ any rules.”

“Well, it’s not like that, so it doesn’t really matter,” Spencer insisted.

Will hummed and JJ turned back around in her seat. Spencer drummed his fingers on his knees and watched DC roll past through the SUV window. It really _wasn’t_ like that. Y/N was just… very nice. A nice, beautiful, sweet, silly kindergarten teacher that he couldn’t stop thinking about no matter how many books he read or coffees he drank or chess games he played.

Monday was the last day of his sabbatical, and he was even more relieved to be headed back than usual— grateful that he’d have something to occupy his mind other than _her_. Because his mind was, indeed, occupied. The way her smile beamed like the spotlight on a stage, illuminating whoever happened to be on the receiving end. The way her hands moved in unbound, buoyant illustrations of her thoughts. The way her laugh felt like the first warm sip of tea or the wrap of his favorite scarf. It was getting out of hand, to say the least.

Will pulled into the parking lot, and instantly Spencer’s palms began to sweat. He glanced at the headband on the seat beside him and felt the mortification clawing at his insides. The costume was ridiculous; _he_ was ridiculous. He should have just worn the Spock outfit.

Maybe he could just wait in the car and pretend like he hadn’t been able to make it. Or he could just leave the headband in the car. But then he’d just be in mint green capris with a sweater vest and platform sandals, and she’d have absolutely no idea who he was supposed to be. Then he’d have to explain it, and it would be even worse.

Will parked the car, and he and JJ immediately stepped out. Spencer watched them near the hood of the SUV, enjoying a rare moment of co-parenting without work hovering right out of frame. Will pulled the hood of the onesie up and JJ laughed, brushing her hand over the brown fabric twigs sticking out of the top. He supposed that if Will Lamontagne, Jr. could strut his stuff in adult footie pajamas, his handmade costume was probably all right.

With one last resigned sigh, Spencer slid the headband on. He grabbed the box of Halloween treats, opened the door, and hauled himself out of the vehicle. He pushed the door closed and looked in the reflection of the window, adjusting the headband around his curls and blowing out a breath.

“Ready?” JJ called, peering around the side of the SUV.

“Yeah—yeah,” Spencer agreed. He moved around the vehicle to join them, the three of them walking to find a spot in the crowd of parents standing around the carpool loop.

When they found a suitable spot, Will looked up at him and shook his head. The sandals added three extra inches to Spencer’s height, putting him a good six inches taller than Will. “Those shoes make you look like an actual giant,” Will chuckled. “I know that’s the point, but I feel like even more of a shrimp next to ya now.”

Spencer set the box of candy bags on the ground and would have shoved his hands into his pockets if the linen trousers had any. Before he could respond, JJ pointed to the door of the school, cooing, “Oh my god, look. Remember when the boys were that small?”

The PreK classes came out first, and Spencer could acknowledge that they were very cute, barely out of the toddler stage and holding hands with a line buddy. But he was waiting on a very specific cutie.

He’d barely had the thought when the kindergarten classes started to emerge from the door. He almost didn’t recognize her at first— just an orange blob and green shrubbery. But the converse gave her away.

“How is she _so_ cute?” JJ threaded her arm through Will’s. “Even when she’s dressed as a giant orange blob.”

“It’s a gift,” Will agreed. He glanced up at Spencer. “Right, doc?”

Spencer nodded but didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. “I think so, yeah.” Will grinned and bumped JJ’s shoulder, but Spencer barely even registered his own response.

Thankfully they’d picked a spot near the very end of the loop, so he had plenty of time to get himself together before she was in front of him. While Will and JJ waved at all the tiny superheroes and princesses, he watched Y/N. She was all orange fabric from her shoulders to her knees, with bright orange Chucks to match. On her head was a strange variation on a party hat, bright green ferns sprouting from the tip of the cone and falling into her face. She looked absolutely ridiculous and entirely adorable, and he was in so much trouble.

When the class finally approached the final curve of the loop, Will nudged Spencer and gestured to the box of goodie bags. Spencer crouched down and lifted the box, standing back up to see Y/N laughing at Will and JJ. “ _Very_ cute, Lamontagne Family.”

Her gaze traveled across, then up, and then her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Spencer wondered if maybe the earth could just open up and swallow him whole.

“Oh my god, are you—?” She stepped forward and ran her hand lightly over the vest, and he didn’t dare breathe. “Are you [the BFG](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fkingdomfancydress.co.uk%2Fmedia%2Fcatalog%2Fproduct%2Fcache%2F5%2Fimage%2F500x500%2F9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95%2Fb%2Ff%2Fbfg_2_2.jpg&t=MDhmY2UyNzFhYjQ5NDkxMjgyZjcwZDNlOGU1ZWJmZWEwOTJmNWI4MyxkZDZiOWRlZThmNTQ1MDM4NDliMDBkYmEyZTQ4M2JhMDJkODMzNGM4&ts=1606713082)?!” Her hand dropped from his torso, and he didn’t have time to be disappointed before her face split into quite possibly the biggest smile he’d seen from her yet.

A tiny Superman shouted, “Ms. Y/L/N, we’re making a gap!”

Y/N came back to herself, gesturing to all three of them. “Don’t go anywhere.” She accepted the offered box of treats from Spencer and then turned to help her class catch up.

Will gave him a look. “It’s not like that, huh?”

“Oh my god, she likes you.” JJ clapped her hands together. “This is amazing.”

“I’m takin’ credit for this,” Will bragged. “I’m a regular ol’ matchmaker.”

Spencer couldn’t even be bothered to attempt a denial. He was still thinking about the feel of her palm on his chest, how it might feel to hold her hand, the way her eyes practically sparkled when she saw his ridiculous headband. He was in _so_ much trouble.

Fifteen minutes later, the classes filed back out into the parking lot for dismissal. Y/N led the class down the sidewalk, grinning at the excitement coursing through her line. As they approached the end of the loop, Y/N caught sight of them and waved. The kids lined up in their normal spot, chatting excitedly about their costumes and candy bags.

“Lord, Ms. Y/L/N, you’re something else,” Will laughed.

“Is it not the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever seen?” She laughed and tapped the green shrubbery hanging in her face. “I have the kids do a little persuasive writing thing every year. They draw a picture and write a sentence about what they think Ms. Y/L/N should be for Halloween, and then we take a vote.”

She waved her hands in that way Spencer loved, the way that was so similar to his own. “Usually the options are pretty tame, you know—ghost, witch, bumblebee. This year was a near tie between runner-up Jojo Siwa and well,” she gestured at herself, “[carrot](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fscontent-ort2-1.xx.fbcdn.net%2Fv%2Ft1.0-0%2Fp526x296%2F128383838_10164898323225457_2942131304241716895_o.jpg%3F_nc_cat%3D108%26ccb%3D2%26_nc_sid%3D8bfeb9%26_nc_ohc%3DqP76h9OLjDcAX_ZBFWO%26_nc_ht%3Dscontent-ort2-1.xx%26tp%3D6%26oh%3Dd5739e0decc970f8264d02a6b112b4f6%26oe%3D5FE895E6&t=MjJmNjE3NTQzMzk2ZmVkZTU1ODcyNzYwY2RjNmQ0OTJjMGQ3ZmRkNSxhZjdlMjRjNTFlZTg0YTExNDA5M2NmNzVjMTlhNjVhNmZiZTczZjZj&ts=1606713082).” Y/N cackled, and the leaves on top of her head shook with the action.

They all laughed along with her, and then JJ added, “The details are truly incredible. Is this an actual plant on your head?”

“I _really_ thought about it,” Y/N laughed, “but no, it’s just fake ferns stuffed into a cardstock funnel.” She gestured at Will and JJ. “But also, excuse me— this family costume is ridiculously cute. Mr. Lamontagne, loving this [onesie](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2Fa4%2F8b%2Fb0%2Fa48bb02afa4418e3f62efadfa08578e7.jpg&t=N2QyMGU2ZDk1YWNjNmE4MmNkNWQyNWYwOWYzN2U0M2NlOWExYzk1MywwNzExMDUwNmVhY2VhY2MwM2JjMDRiYTJmY2U3MjI4NjcwNzY5NGU0&ts=1607116273). Mrs. Jareau, I didn’t even know it was possible to [look prettier](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fimages-na.ssl-images-amazon.com%2Fimages%2FI%2F61u2i6Uz8dL._AC_UX385_.jpg&t=MDIzNjc4NGQ3ZTQyNTc2ZjIyOGM1NzI3NDZiOWVkZWJkODNkMTExMixiZWFlZGU1NGEzYWU2MDIyOWQ5MmFhYmNiNTk4YTNjOTA1YjhmYzNh&ts=1607116273) than you usually do, but here you are. And Michael’s [Anna costume](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2F6d%2F21%2F2a%2F6d212af007da87c35b7b05cdad4fee1d.jpg&t=MzNiMWIzYmM0ZjI2OThiYmFjYzY0N2MxYTVkNWE0ODQ3YmFjMjk3OCxkMTU0NDVkMDg2MTQ4NmI5MmEwYTQ5YjAxZTUxN2QzYzI3ZWU1Mzdm&ts=1606713082)?” She held her hands up. “Incredible. Show stopping. I wish I had an aunt Penelope to enlist the help of, because that cape is the actual height of fashion.”

“She helped Spence, too,” JJ prompted, stealing a glance in his direction.

“Oh yeah?” Y/N asked, turning to smile at Spencer.

“We um, 3D printed the ears,” he clarified.

“No way!” She took a step closer to him, peering up at the detail on the headband. He leaned down a little for her to get a closer look. “That is so cool. I’ve never actually seen anything 3D printed up close before— did you design them yourself?”

She met his eyes briefly, and he realized how close they were— close enough that he caught the faintest whiff of sandalwood and cardamom. Of course she even smelled like warmth and home. “Well. I, um— I drew a sort of sketch, I guess. And then Penelope did the software coding. I— I’m not very good with technology, honestly.”

She ran her fingers lightly over the plastic, and he decided she was really trying to kill him. “Yeah, I’m not sure I really understand how it works.”

“Well, first you create a blueprint file of the design you want to print, which you can do through modeling software or three-dimensional scanning. Then you convert the file into an STL file— named for Stereolithography which was the first ever 3D printing process. The STL file is made up of triangular mesh polygons, which is the data that describes the surface of a three-dimensional object. After that, you use a software program to complete the process of slicing— essentially dividing or chopping the 3D model into hundreds or thousands of horizontal layers that the printer can print one at a time to create the 3D object. And then the printer prints each layer until you have your finished product.”

Y/N was quiet, and he pulled back to see her grinning at him. “I thought you said you weren’t very good with technology?”

“I’m not good with _using_ technology,” he clarified.

She nodded. “Gotcha. So you just know everything about it.”

Her joking tone had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I read a lot.”

“How much is a lot?”

“I can read at a rate of 20,000 words per minute, so… a lot.”

Her eyebrows shot up into the tangle of ferns on her head, and he was just so overwhelmed by how adorable she was. “Well, if I ever have a question about anything, I know who I’m coming to.”

He was sure he was blushing, but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “I’m happy to answer any and all of your questions.”

She let her gaze travel over the rest of the costume. “Oh my god, the sandals! Man, you really nailed it. I’m very impressed.”

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I thought about being Trunchbull, but I couldn’t find the sweatshirt,” he joked.

She laughed, and he wanted to bottle it up to keep forever. “As much as I would have _loved_ to see your hair in a bun… you’re much too sweet to have been able to pull that off.” She smiled softly at him. “Much more suited to our friend the BFG.”

He rubbed a hand down the back of his neck, and it was only then that he realized Will and JJ had gone to the car. He looked back to Y/N, opening his mouth but unsure of what he was going to say.

“Y/L/N!” He turned his head to see Anita jogging toward them. “Did you—” The giant cardboard box she was wearing knocked into one of the few kindergarteners left in Y/N’s line, nearly sending them to the ground. “Oh my gosh, sorry sweetheart!” She righted the startled child, and Spencer gave her a once over, completely at a loss as to what her costume could be.

“What in the world are you supposed to be?” Y/N asked, choking out a laugh.

Anita looked at her deadpan. “A monopoly piece. Remind me that I’m _never_ participating in team costumes _ever_ again.” She rolled her eyes and gestured at Y/N. “Next year I’m gonna wear an orange t-shirt, call myself a carrot, and be much more comfortable.”

“I’ll have you know this costume was a lot of work,” Y/N remarked, crossing her arms.

“I’m sure it was. You could have put on an orange dress, stuck a green pipe cleaner in your hair, and called it a day, but that’s not the Y/L/N way.” Anita’s eyes slid across to where Spencer stood. “Well, _hello_ , doctor. I have absolutely no idea what you’re supposed to be, but I love everything about it.”

“Spencer’s the BFG,” Y/N said, and Spencer could have sworn she sounded almost proud.

“Ah, Roald Dahl, of course.” Anita smirked. “I see you, Spencer. I see you.” She put her hands on her hips— or rather where her hips would have been if they weren’t covered by a ridiculously large box. “So, when are you going to volunteer?”

“Sorry?” he asked.

“Like, when are you going to volunteer in Y/L/N’s classroom?” She held up her hand, palm down, and made a circular motion between the two of them. “You know, hang out, but _professionally_.”

“Oh my _god_ , did you need something?” Y/N’s squeaked, eyes wide.

Anita ignored her. “You just have to do a background check, but I’m sure you’ll pass it.”

“ _Lopez_ ,” Y/N said, staring her down. “Do you need something?”

“Oh, I was just going to ask if you got the email about the PD after school on Tuesday. But this was much more fun.” She winked at Spencer. “Bye, Spencer.”

They both stared after her as she nearly skipped across the grass to the building. Y/N turned to him. “I’m— so sorry.”

He met her eyes and took the leap. “Volunteering could be fun.”

He watched her press her lips together to contain her smile. “It could be.”

He didn’t bother containing his own. “I’ll um— I’ll shoot you an email.”

“I’ll respond to your email.”

…

When he walked in the door, Spencer made a beeline for his desk. He opened his laptop and pulled up his email account, writing as fast as his one-finger typing would allow.

Spencer Reid  
Re: Volunteering

_Hi!_

_I’m just following up about volunteering. Anita mentioned a form that I needed to fill out? Now that I’ll be back to work, I’ll just need to plan around the BAU schedule. Could you give me a list of days that would work for you?_

_Really looking forward to seeing you in action._

_Spencer_

He checked his two other email messages, and then left the browser up while he thumbed through his most recent reading material.

He sat at his desk for the remainder of the afternoon, distractedly perusing his book and glancing at his empty inbox every minute or so. His gaze flew up to the screen at the ding of a new message at 6:30, only to find a promotional email from one of his favorite indie bookstores.

He closed his laptop with a sigh. It was a Friday night. Y/N probably just didn’t check her email on the weekend. He could wait until Monday. He’d _see her_ on Monday.

He limited himself to checking his laptop twice a day on Saturday and Sunday. When Monday rolled around, he checked it in the morning. He leaned back against the leather of his chair, staring at the empty inbox. He had some errands to run, and for the first time in his life, he wished he had a phone that had email on it.

He ran his last-day-of-sabbatical errands and stopped in at his favorite coffee shop for most likely the last midday, sit-down coffee he’d have for a while. Before he realized, it was 2:30. He brought his empty mug to the counter and waved to the barista. Then he walked to the car and prepped his conversation starters.

“Did you get my email? I sent you an email, just wondering if you saw it? Hey— Hello— _Hi_ , I wasn’t sure if you got my email.” He blew out a breath. “Hi. How are you?” He waved his hand. “I’m great. Did you get my email?” He laughed into the empty car. “Ridiculous, Spencer. You’re ridiculous.”

When he pulled into the parking lot, his heart was racing and his palms were slipping against the steering wheel. He pulled around the loop, looking with a furrowed brow at the area where Y/N should be. In her place was a short woman with cropped grey hair. She held a clipboard and looked generally overwhelmed.

Michael sprinted to the car as soon as he saw it. He pulled open the door and let out a world weary sigh. Spencer turned in his seat. “Everything all right?”

“No, everything is _terrible_ ,” he huffed dramatically. “Ms. Y/L/N was sick today. Mrs. Franklin was our substitute, and she smells weird.”

Spencer looked through the window at Mrs. Franklin, struggling to keep a few rowdy boys in the line. “I’m sorry, buddy. I’m sure Ms. Y/L/N will be back soon.” He was secretly relieved that he had a potential explanation for the unanswered email.

“I can’t take another day of Mrs. Franklin,” Michael sighed, buckling his seatbelt. “I hope Ms. Y/L/N’s back tomorrow.”

Spencer let out a breath and pulled away from the curb. “Me, too.”

…

JJ huffed out a breath, glaring at the stack of paperwork in front of her. Spencer was nose deep in a book, but he glanced up at the sound. “I can take a few of those if you want,” he offered.

“No, it’s fine,” she sighed. “I’ve really only got six left.”

He looked at his watch. “Each report takes you approximately 37 minutes. With eight minute breaks in between, you’re not going to be out of here until almost 6:00.”

JJ laughed. “I can’t believe I missed out on these scathing performance reviews for thirty days.”

“Suit yourself.” Spencer dropped his gaze back to his reading.

His first week back from sabbatical had been uneventful to say the least. The team had just wrapped a local case, and they’d spent the better part of the week going over consultations and potentials. It was finally Friday, and Spencer was finished with his stack of backlogged reports.

He was finishing the last chapter of the book when JJ dropped a string of quiet curses. He continued reading, waiting for her to ask. She was quiet for another minute.

“I forgot I’m on duty to pick Michael up today.” Spencer looked up at her, slight panic coming over him.

“I really don’t mind finishing your reports,” he offered.

JJ raised her eyebrows. “What, no offering to visit Ms. Y/L/N?”

Spencer closed his book. “I, um. I sent her an email a week ago, and she hasn’t responded.”

“So?”

“So…” Spencer ran a hand through his hair. “That’s weird, right?”

JJ laughed. “You don’t really use email, so I’d imagine your inbox is pretty orderly. But if you use it a lot, it can be easy for messages to get lost.” She looked at him pointedly. “I can almost guarantee that she’s not ignoring you, Spence.”

He sighed. “I guess there’s a quick way to find out.”

…

Spencer drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the door of the school. He glanced at the clock, noting the class was later than they’d ever been. Without really understanding why, he pulled out of the loop and swung back around to park in the lot. He exited the car, and as he rounded the hood, he spotted them.

Y/N was at the front of the line, hands stuffed in the pockets of her jacket and mouth pressed into a thin line. The line behind her was unlike he’d ever seen it. No waving arms, no smiles, no giggles. Twenty small bodies followed behind her with absolute and total solemnity, and he felt uncomfortable just watching them. It would have almost been funny if it wasn’t so dramatically out of character.

The line weaved around the more rambunctious classes, maintaining their grave expressions and quiet pace. They reached their spot on the sidewalk, and Y/N didn’t even have to say anything. Spencer watched as the line took their spots behind her. She held one hand up to acknowledge parents as they pulled up, murmuring stoic goodbyes to students as they headed to their vehicles.

He hung back at the hood of the car until the majority of the class was gone, slowly making his way across the parking lot. Y/N’s line of sight was pointed in his direction, but her eyes were unfocused in the afternoon sun. He could see the moment that she registered his presence, her eyes widening slightly and bottom lip releasing from the place she’d been absentmindedly chewing. She shifted her weight as he closed the final few feet between them.

“Hi.” She held a silent hand up in greeting. He clenched and unclenched his fingers. “Rough day?”

“It’s not always sunshine and rainbows, despite what everyone thinks,” she snapped. She blew out a breath and rolled her eyes up to the perfectly blue sky, mocking her mood. “I’m sorry. Yes, it was a rough day.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“You don’t deserve my wrath.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the students. “They didn’t either, but— too late for that.”

He watched as she lowered her head back down, rubbing a hand over her face. He desperately wanted to slay whatever dragons had given her normally brilliant eyes such a grey cast. “You have strong relationships with them, and kids are resilient. I’m sure they know you—”

“Please— don’t.” Her voice was thick, and she looked at him with desperate eyes. “I— I appreciate the thought, but I’m— I’m a frustrated crier.” Her shining irises proved her point. “And I’m just— I’m really just trying to keep it together for the last four minutes of my contract time.” Her words were practically a whisper, and she swallowed thickly and glanced down the line, just Michael and one classmate left, eyes downcast.

“I understand.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets to keep them from reaching out and touching her. “I’m sorry. I— I hope your weekend is better than today.”

Michael slowly left the line, murmuring a quiet goodbye to Y/N. Spencer put a hand on his shoulder and steered him toward the car, stealing one last glance at a crushed Y/N.

…

**Y/N Y/L/N**

**Re: Re: Volunteering**

**Hi,**

**I meant to respond to this email, and then a bunch of things happened, and then I was out all week.**

**I don’t know if you even still want to volunteer after this afternoon, but it felt rude to not respond at all.**

**I’ve attached the background check form to this email in case you’re still interested.**

**Y/N**

**1 Attachment: Background Check**

—

_Hi,_

_I meant what I said this afternoon. Your students love you, and they know you love them. If my conversation with Michael in the car was any indication, they’re feeling rightfully embarrassed and guilty about their behavior while you were out._

_Regardless of what happened today, your relationships with your students are strong enough that they will come to school tomorrow knowing that you still care about them. Children don’t hold onto things nearly as much as adults._

_It would be a privilege to volunteer in your classroom, even on the worst day._

_Spencer_

_1 Attachment: Background Check - Spencer Reid_

—

**If I wasn’t already crying, I would be now.**

**Thanks for that.**

**No sarcasm intended. Really. Thank you.**

—

_This might be inappropriate, and if it is, please just pretend like this email doesn’t exist._

_I have a favorite cafe in the DuPont circle area, Soho Tea & Coffee. They have an excellent tea drink made with honey and milk that I like to order whenever I’ve had a particularly difficult day. _

_If you’re up for it, it’s on me._

Y/N's costume inspiration:


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Reader crosses the last line in the sand. Spencer makes an exception to a rule.
> 
> Warnings/Includes: peripheral character death
> 
> a/n: The exact sad shit that happened to Reader happened to me a year ago. I did not have a tea date with Spencer Reid to help me cope lmao.
> 
> Song Rec: Honey + Tea by Mōzi

Y/N paused about a dozen feet from the door of the cafe. The blue awning of Soho Tea & Coffee was just barely illuminated by the dying daylight. She hugged her arms around herself— fighting the November chill but also preparing herself to cross the imaginary boundary she’d drawn between her and Spencer Reid.

When she met him five weeks ago, he had just been Michael’s uncle. His unbelievably attractive, impeccably dressed uncle. She was grateful for the ogling material, but she also recognized that he was incredibly out of her league— despite what Anita might have thought. She’d been able to convince herself of that fact easily, and she hadn’t thought much about him after he pulled away from the curb.

And then he kept showing up— eight times over that first two weeks, always with a sweet smile and attentive eyes and purposeful small talk— and she began to wonder if maybe he really _was_ interested. Michael, in all his innocence, did nothing to quell her infatuation. He regaled her with stories about Spencer nearly every chance he got— Spencer did magic tricks; he helped make slime; he explained engineering concepts with LEGOs; he read Michael and Henry endless stories.

It was Michael himself who brought up the idea of Spencer being a guest reader. He’d looked at her earnestly and told her all about how poor uncle Spencer had been practicing his story voices. That maybe it would be nice to let him show off his hard work by being a guest reader. Who was she to disagree?

His guest reader performance had been one for the ages. Her previous readers had gotten through their stories quickly, never spending longer than five or six minutes on the book. Most of the time was spent on the post-story Q&A, and oftentimes she had to entertain her class for the last twenty minutes of the day— filling the time when they became bored or the reader ran out of things to say.

Spencer, on the other hand, was a natural. It wasn’t just his story voices. It was the way he paused to think aloud, ask questions, or point out a funny illustration. It was the way he explained vocabulary they might not know, and the way he slowly and deliberately showed the pictures. It was the way he made sure the kids knew he was listening to them and appreciating their responses. It was the way he looked at her when Evan spoke up for the first time.

Her Halloween invitation had been an unplanned one; a Hail Mary to try to secure another opportunity to see Spencer outside of the carpool loop. She never could have imagined that she’d lose the keys to her heart while dressed as a carrot, but the moment she saw him in that ridiculous BFG costume, she was an absolute goner. She couldn’t even be angry with Anita for her meddling. She’d been too busy falling head over heels.

Then, the week from hell had happened. She’d missed his email. She’d snapped at him and shut down his attempts at comforting her. She’d sent him away with his tail between his legs before she could do something insane like ask to cry on his shoulder.

And now here she was, standing in front of his favorite cafe at 5:19 on a Friday night. Michael’s uncle. Dr. Spencer Reid. Spencer the Big Friendly Giant. The man who was practically living inside her head these days. Inviting her to tea like it wasn’t going to destroy whatever flimsy boundaries she had left.

She knew she should really turn around and go home and pretend like the email didn’t exist. He’d given her the option. She sighed, and then she closed the distance to the cafe door and pulled it open.

A bell tinkled to signal her arrival. She saw him immediately, sitting at a table in the corner. At the sound of the bell, he raised his head from his book, and oh. _Oh._

He stood from his chair immediately and gave her a small wave. She walked quietly to stand in front of the table, and he motioned to the empty chair across from him. “Sit, please. I’ll get you the Honey Bunny.”

“The what?” Her eyes were still taking him in—soft sweater, soft curls, soft _everything_ , and—

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and _oh_. “The drink. It’s, um— it’s called a— a Honey Bunny steamer. I can get you something else if—”

“No, no, that’s fine.” She shook her head and gestured toward his glasses. “Were you wearing those earlier?”

“No, I— I was wearing my contacts.” His brows knit together behind the frames. “Why?”

“I just— I’ve never seen you wear glasses,” she said, dumbly. Her brain had turned to actual mush. “I, um. I like them.”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Thanks. I’ll, um— I’ll be right back.” He turned his body to brush past her and toward the counter.

She stood in silence for an entire thirty seconds before she moved to sit across from Spencer’s discarded jacket and book. She ran a hand over her tired face, mumbling, “Get it together, Y/L/N,” as if that would help at all. As if she hadn’t already been borderline obsessed with him— she was now aware that the brilliant, sweet, gorgeous Spencer Reid wore an adorable pair of half-frame horn rimmed glasses. She was so well and truly fucked.

She was shrugging out of her jacket when Spencer returned with two mugs, carefully setting them down on the table. He slid through the gap between their table and the wall, dropping quietly into the chair across from her.

She wrapped her hands immediately around the mug, grateful for the ability to busy them with something other than reaching for him. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He gestured toward her mug. “If you don’t like it, I can get you—”

“Spencer.” He paused and dropped his hand. “After this afternoon, I honestly just can’t believe the first thing you thought to do was offer to buy me tea.”

By the way his face dropped, she immediately knew that sentence did not come out the way she intended. She hastily continued, “I’m not sure that tea is what I deserve. I was an asshole, and I’m sorry.”

Spencer huffed out a little breath. “You were _not_ an asshole. You were upset, and I wasn’t being very helpful.”

“No, Spencer—I just—” She sighed. “I really was just trying not to cry. You were very sweet.”

His fingers fiddled with the handle of his mug. “Do you... want to talk about it?”

She dropped her chin into her hand. “What did Michael say?”

“He was adamant that he tried to keep everyone in line all week,” Spencer relayed. “But he admitted that a few things had gotten broken while you were out. Also that Mrs. Franklin had left you a rather... scathing note detailing their behavior.”

Y/N huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, a few things got broken. My projector, for one. Apparently there was a literal brawl over the magnatiles. The cart got knocked over, and the projector is a complete loss.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. Projectors can be replaced, I guess.” Y/N ran a hand through her hair. “But the note from Mrs. Franklin— that was really something else. I mean, they were just _awful_ to each other all week.”

She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “So when I came back and found out they’d been complete dicks to each other all week _and_ that stupid projector had been destroyed? I just— completely lost my shit on them.” She ran a hand over her face. “I’m sorry. I’m ruining the wholesome teacher façade.”

“No, no, you’re not,” he assured her. “It’s completely reasonable. You’re human; emotional outbursts are inevitable. You spent ten weeks teaching them to treat each other with kindness and respect their space, and they did the opposite of that when you were out sick.”

“I wasn’t— I wasn’t out sick.” She sighed. Her voice thickened, and she knew that the grief simmering below the surface was about to boil over. “I, um. I was at home. My— my grandmother died on Friday.”

Spencer paused, and when he continued speaking, his voice was so soft that she couldn’t keep the tears from spilling over. “Oh, I’m— Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

He reached his hands out to cover hers where they laid on the table. He rubbed his thumbs over the tops of her hands, and she focused on the motion.

“We, um— we were really close. She was a teacher, too, and when I was little I would _beg_ her to play school, like, every single day.” She laughed wetly and met his eyes. “Well, I didn’t have to beg. She loved it. But that’s honestly where my teaching style comes from. She was just the funniest person. Nothing was too silly. And I just— I think sometimes we lose that, you know? We want to be so serious, _especially_ in schools. Like, everything boils down to a test score nowadays.”

She shook her head. “But that’s not life, right? Life isn’t a test. Life is— talking to people. It’s problem solving. It’s sharing, and working together, and building things, and being creative. It’s learning how to persevere even when something is hard, and learning from mistakes, and being wrong sometimes. It’s not just taking in knowledge all day, it’s putting yourself out in the world and seeing what happens. We turn kids into these little robots reciting standards and can-do statements without ever stopping to consider whether or not we’re teaching them to love the act of learning itself.”

She huffed out a breath and reeled herself back in. “Sorry— I have a lot of education policy soapboxes, so feel free to tell me to shut up at any time.”

Spencer shook his head, his curls shifting slightly with the motion. “As someone who is constantly either reduced to my IQ or ridiculed for it, I— it’s a refreshing perspective.” He squeezed their joined hands, and her breath evaporated inside her lungs. “I’ve said it before, but the world really does need more teachers like you.”

She felt the tears welling up again. “God, I— I really needed to hear that today. Thank you.” He nodded, and she continued, “Anyway. She, um— she had Alzheimer’s. She was diagnosed six years ago. And she just— wasn’t herself after that, you know? And, I guess I thought that would make it easier?”

Her voice was getting threadier with each sentence, and she would have been embarrassed, but Spencer’s hands were so warm, his eyes so steady and understanding. “There had been all these little deaths of her already, every time we lost another piece. So I thought, you know, maybe I’d be prepared for the final death.” She sniffed and shook her head. “And I just— really, really wasn’t.”

She didn’t even bother trying to stop the tears. The frustration of the day, coupled with the grief that was still rolling through her proved too much. She knew that, realistically, Spencer was a relative stranger. But nothing about talking to him felt strange. He let her cry quietly, let her shatter a little bit in the corner of a coffee shop, and dropped a wrecking ball straight through the crumbled wall that was left between him and her heart.

She reluctantly removed her hands from underneath his, taking the napkin he’d brought with the tea and dabbing under her eyes and nose. “And then I came back to a classroom that was destroyed, and kids who were treating each other like garbage, and I turned around and did the same thing.”

She dropped her hands into her lap with a huff. “I even, like, slammed my hand on the desk when I was yelling,” she admitted, her eyes focused on the ceiling. “It was horrific.” She sniffed and steeled herself to reveal the thought that had been eating at her more than any other. “Especially because the only thing I could think after I’d done it was how disappointed my grandma would be if she could’ve seen me.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, sure that now she’d revealed this awful piece of herself, the illusion she’d convinced him of would be shattered and this burgeoning _thing_ — whatever it was— would be over. In her periphery, she could see him lean forward over the table.

“I didn’t know your grandmother, but I’m pretty sure disappointed is the last thing she would be.” She did look at him then, and that proved to be a monumental mistake. His eyes were so soft and sure, his brow just slightly raised behind his glasses, and she fell a little harder. He shook his head and continued, “The fact that you’re concerned about losing your cool is proof enough that you care. That you care about the way your students feel in your classroom, and that you want them to feel safe and loved.” He smiled a little. “And I have a sneaking suspicion you’ll make it a point to make that clear on Monday.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Oh, I’ve already been brainstorming my _very_ serious apology speech.”

He leaned back, grinning from ear to ear. “I can only imagine.” His smile softened, and her heart clenched in the most uncomfortable and wonderful way. “I know I’ve only spent one afternoon in your classroom, but—just… believe me when I say, as someone who’s spent the better part of my life studying human behavior, your students trust and respect you. Those kinds of bonds don’t get broken that easily.”

“I know that’s probably true,” she sighed. “I just— felt like the worst person in the world today.”

“Objectively speaking, you are definitely not the worst person in the world.” Spencer wrapped his hands around his mug, studying the liquid inside rather intently. “In my expert opinion, you’re one of the best.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. Here was this man, who spent his life profiling monsters. Who took the time to not only read her teaching philosophy but then _compliment it_. Who practiced his story voices, and wore a silly costume that he knew would make her smile. A man who invited her to tea even though she’d been downright rude to him. And here he was telling her that _she_ was the best.

She had dated enough terrible men to be able to see through feigned interest and ulterior motives. Men with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes and said eyes focused on other things. Men who asked questions just to be able to give their own answer. Men who talked down to her or tried to explain her own beliefs and experiences to her.

And here was, quite literally, the most intelligent person she’d ever met, speaking to and looking at her with genuine respect and interest. Really _looking_ at her. With kind eyes and cute glasses and soft curls and worried hands and a slightly abashed expression. Waiting for her to respond, she realized with a start.

“Well, I— I suppose if the expert says so, it must be true.”

They both took a sip of their tea, hiding their smiles behind the mugs. Y/N felt warm all over and not from the drink. They sat in comfortable silence over their steaming beverages for an indiscriminate amount of time, before she set her mug down and brought a hand up to rest her chin in her palm. “Teach me something I don’t know.”

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“Sorry, oh my god.” She waved her hand. “You don’t have to. That sounds so demanding. I just. Can you just— tell me about something? That I probably wouldn’t know. Like that thing about the origin of Monday. Or Chuck Taylor. Or the 3D printing.”

Spencer just stared at her for a long moment, and she briefly considered packing it up and moving to Timbuktu. But then he continued, “Just— anything?”

“Yeah.” She could listen to him all day, but that would be an embarrassing thing to admit. “Anything.”

He swallowed and gestured to her mug. “Did you like it?”

She nodded. “Anything with milk and honey and I’m sold.”

“Okay so,” he started, leaning over the table and gesturing with his hands, “the earliest historical mention of honey is in a mesolithic rock painting in a cave in Valencia, Spain.”

She watched as his eyes went a little wider, excitement coming over his features, and she fell a little harder. “Estimates put the painting at about 8,000 years old. It’s well known that King Tutankhamen took honey with him into the afterlife, but archaeologists in Georgia actually found containers with the remnants of honey that were 2,000 years _older_ than those in King Tut’s tomb.”

She folded her arms over the table and leaned in. “A rock painting of honey, huh?”

“Actually, it was more the act of collecting the honey than the honey itself,” he clarified. She smiled as he animatedly continued, “Honey wasn’t just used for sweetening, although the ancient Greeks and Egyptians did use it for that. It was also used in religious rituals, in the treatment of burns and other skin conditions, and even for embalming.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Like embalming dead people?”

“Yep!” He grimaced at his own enthusiasm, and she laughed. His face melted back into a tentative smile. “You did ask for something you wouldn’t know. I figured that might fit the bill.”

“You did not disappoint, doctor.” She smiled softly at him and hoped her eyes weren’t quite as dreamy as she felt.

He returned her smile for a brief moment before reaching for his pocket, pulling out a buzzing phone and silencing it. He looked at her, eyes steady. “How are you feeling?”

“A hell of a lot lighter than I was an hour ago.” She leaned back in the cafe chair. “Thank you.”

“Any time.” His phone buzzed again. He reluctantly glanced at the screen to read the message.

“If you need to answer, or go, it’s fine,” Y/N insisted.

He sighed and glanced at her. “It’s work.” He read the message, typed out a reply, and pocketed his phone. “I— I do have to go.”

She smoothed her hands down the tops of her thighs. “Of course. I understand.”

They both stood, shrugging on their jackets and returning their empty mugs to the counter. He held the door for her, and they stepped out into the November night. She swung her arms a little nervously, and he gave her his signature wave.

“Are you a hugger?” Spencer froze mid-wave and Y/N continued, “It’s okay if you’re not— sorry if it’s weird to ask. I just— I teach my kids that you should really ask before touching someone, because some people don’t like it, but I could really use—”

Spencer’s arms were around her before she realized what was happening. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he squeezed her tightly. She breathed him in, smelling his soap and something just underneath that was purely Spencer. He rubbed his hands firmly over her back, head tucked over her shoulder. She ran her hands up his back to his shoulders to pull him a little closer, committing the feel of him to memory and wishing on everything that the moment could last forever.

He pulled away first, releasing her reluctantly. “To answer your question: no, I’m not usually a hugger.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “But I suppose there are always exceptions to the rule.”

Her heart did a little flip in her chest, and she put her own hands into her jacket pockets. “Well, I’m really glad you made an exception for me.” His phone buzzed again. She motioned with her head. “Go, go. Save some lives, doctor.”

He hesitated, his eyes on her face. “Um— email me some days that would work for you. For the volunteering.” He held up his phone. “We’ll probably be busy for the next week or so, but maybe the week after?”

“Will do.”

“I, uh— I don’t get email to my phone,” he informed her. “If I don’t respond to you right away, that’s why.”

“Ah yes, Mr. No Good With Technology,” she laughed. “Good to know.” He waved again before slowly turning on his heel, headed to his car.

“Hey, Spencer?” He stopped and turned back to look at her. “I know I’m not an expert, but... I think you’re a pretty excellent person, too.”

He smiled, soft and warm and bright, glasses slightly fogged up from his breath. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

She turned in the direction of her car and blew out a breath. Falling was exactly the right word for it, she decided. Because Spencer Reid had her descending into a free fall, and she couldn’t seem to catch herself. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to when it felt like this.

...

_Y/N: I may or may not have just gotten tea with Dr. Reid..._

**Anita: I KNEW IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
** **Anita: So is he a good kisser????????  
** **Anita: I need to know... for science**

_Y/N: We didn’t kiss, you absolute loon. We just talked._

**Anita: UGHHHHH what is the point of getting tea if you weren’t gonna get *tea* ???????????**

_Y/N: Getting tea is not a euphemism._

**Anita: Well it isn’t but it COULD HAVE BEEN  
** **Anita: You are cock blocking me from knowing what the good doctor’s working with and I don’t appreciate it**

_Y/N: You’re out of your gourd._

**Anita: Please tell me you did something more than glance longingly**

_Y/N: Welp, I cried about my grandma?_

**Anita: Oh, babe. 😔 I’m so sorry.**

_Y/N: It’s okay. I’m okay. It was actually... totally fine. He held my hand?_

**Anita: ?!!!!?!!???!!?!!??  
Anita: WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS PART ALREADY?!  
Anita: HE HELD YOUR HAND?????????????????  
Anita: TO COMFORT YOU ABOUT GMA?????????**

_Y/N: We also hugged._

**Anita: 😭😭😭😭😭  
Anita: ^ that’s me  
Anita: I’m crying  
Anita: Ugly crying about you and Spencer  
Anita: H U G G I N G  
Anita: And you’re WELCOME for my MEDDLING  
Anita: When you guys get married, I better be maid of honor**


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Spencer volunteers in kindergarten. There’s some teasing from the team. There’s a lot of falling in love. 
> 
> Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
> 
> Category: fluff
> 
> Warnings/Includes: none
> 
> a/n: This part was unnecessarily difficult to write, and I’m still not 100% happy with it, but she’s here. Be kind to my rendering of Spence’s gift lmao. Also, this is the last fluff for a bit so enjoy it. 😅😬
> 
> a/n 2: Because this is a fake story about fake people, it’s totally fine that the canon vs. real life timeline is kind of fucked, right? 🥴 All you need to know is that this entire series is happening post series finale— so post-prison, post-Date Night, post-Max. But for the purposes of this fic, all of those events happened two years earlier than the actual real life timeline because coronavirus would not allow this story to work otherwise. Okay that was probably more an issue for my brain than for y’all but I needed to clarify it for myself.

**Y/N Y/L/N**

**Re: Volunteering**

**Hi,**

**I imagine that your schedule is harder to work around than kindergarten’s. Fridays work best for us because we get a little flexibility to play and have fun.**

**Whenever you get back just let me know. You’ve been a topic of conversation since your guest reader performance, so they’ll be over the moon. ☺️**

**Y/N**

—

_Spencer Reid_

_Re: Re: Volunteering_

_Hi!_

_Sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. We had back to back cases out of town, but we’re finally back in DC._

_I know it’s short notice, but if this Friday works for you, I'd like to take advantage of it before we get called out again._

_Spencer_

—

**That’s perfect! Our day starts at 8:45, but if you want to come around 8:30, I can prep you for the hullabaloo 😉**

—

_I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard the word hullabaloo used in real life… Should I be worried?_

—

**Not as long as I’m around, Dr. Reid.**

...

“Drinks at O’Keefe’s, first round’s on me.” Luke closed the file on his desk. “Who’s in?”

Tara pulled her bag from her desk drawer. “If you’re buying, I’m down.”

“Second that,” Rossi agreed.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa— I said _first_ round,” Luke clarified. “I don’t make enough to fund your top shelf habits.”

Matt grinned, shrugging into his coat. “Let me just call Kristy, and then I’m in.”

Luke nodded to Spencer. “How about you, Reid?”

“Hmm?” He didn’t look up from his report, still furiously scribbling away.

“You coming out with us?”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head and gestured vaguely to the case files on his desk. “I really need to finish these since I won’t be in tomorrow.” When Luke didn’t respond, Spencer lifted his head. At Luke’s raised eyebrow, he questioned, “What?”

“You never take days off.”

Spencer cursed internally. The entire team was gathered in the bullpen, ready to head out and now considering him with curious eyes. Luke wasn’t wrong. Particularly now that he had the mandatory sabbaticals, he never took days off.

Emily smirked, having already approved the use of a personal day for his adventure in Y/N’s class. JJ crossed her arms and grinned. “Spence is volunteering in Michael’s classroom.”

Matt laughed. “Good luck with that. I volunteered _one time_ when Jake was in kindergarten, and it scarred me for life.”

JJ slipped into her jacket and avoided Spencer’s warning glare. “Oh, I think he’ll be _just_ fine. Ms. Y/L/N will keep a close eye on him.”

“Why do I feel like there’s a story there?” Tara asked, tucking her hands in her pockets with an interested look.

“There’s no story,” Spencer said, a little too quickly.

“Oh, so there’s _definitely_ a story,” Luke said, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Is this a hot for teacher thing?”

“All right, leave the kid alone,” Rossi said. Spencer had one moment to feel grateful before Rossi continued, “He’ll tell us the story when he’s ready.”

Spencer let out an embarrassed huff, his voice considerably higher than normal when he said, “There’s _no_ story.”

There were eye rolls and hands up in surrender and quiet laughs as the team made their way to the double doors. Spencer rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back in his desk chair. There really wasn’t a story.

...

He walked into the school at 8:29, and Linda was at the desk. He waved, and she gave him a warm smile. “Good morning, Dr. Reid! Ms. Y/L/N said you’d be volunteering today. Ready for a full day of kindergarten chaos?”

He smiled tentatively as he signed into the visitor log. “I’m honestly not sure.”

“Well, she’s one of the best, so I’m sure you’ll be fine. But my desk is always here if you need a little break.” She gave him a wink and handed him his visitor sticker.

“Thank you very much.” He motioned down the hallway. “Is she in?”

“Oh yes, dear,” Linda confirmed. “She’s here before me most days.”

He gave her another quick thank you before heading down the hallway to Room 105. A loud laugh drifted out of the classroom doorway, and he knocked before stepping in.

Anita grinned, hands on her hips. “Good morning, doctor. Ready for a day in the jungle?”

He shifted nervously. “Everyone keeps asking me that.”

Anita cackled, and Y/N rolled her eyes. “Stop trying to scare him.”

“I can tell you for a fact that I would not last a single day teaching in this room,” Anita warned. “Kindergarteners are feral.”

“They are not _feral_ ,” Y/N sighed.

Anita’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “You’ve literally been bitten.”

“That was _one time_.” She turned to Spencer with her best attempt at a reassuring smile. “That friend is not in our class this year.”

“Again. Feral,” Anita repeated, emphasizing the sentiment. She made her way to the door, taking Spencer in. “I’m just taking a mental picture of what you look like right now. Gotta compare it to the 3:45 version.” She gave him one more once over before she brushed past him and into the hallway, laughing as she went.

Y/N got up from her desk and shook her head. “It won’t be that bad, I promise.” She smiled, and he had to physically stop himself from swooning. “I have to tell you, most of our volunteers are old ladies, so we’re _very_ excited to have you with us today. You’re going to be in high demand,” she warned.

He crossed to her desk as he took her in. She had the original black and white converse on today, paired with jeans and a [sweater](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.etsy.com%2Flisting%2F644002858%2Fcute-dinosaur-sweater-dinosaurs-jumper&t=YmE5MDMwM2RmOWQ4NzViOTkyYWZiYzhkMzYwMzNmNWNlMTllNzQ2NiwyMTVlOGY0NzJmMzhmOTNmNWNhNzBlYTk5NDgxZjkwYjEwY2VkN2Zk&ts=1608841299) covered in sparkly dinosaurs. “I like your sweater.”

“Thank you!” She pulled it slightly away from her body to examine the dinosaurs. She pointed to one of them, a purple one with a long neck. “This guy’s my favorite.”

“Ah yes, a sauropod. The most well known sauropod in popular culture is the Brontosaurus, but did you know that the biggest dinosaur that ever lived is believed to be a sauropod called the Amphicoelias?”

She smiled and cocked her head to the side. “I didn’t know that, no.”

“They could grow up to 200 feet in length and weigh 120 tons,” he said, drawing his hands out into a wide gesture. “That’s about twice the size of the biggest animal in our current era, the blue whale.”

“I can’t even fathom an animal that big.” She considered him for a moment. “You know, if you want, you could run a mini lesson on dinosaurs today.”

Spencer just stared at her. “Seriously?”

“Yeah! The kids would love that. I have some serious dinosaur fiends this year.” She held her hands up in a placating gesture. “You absolutely do not have to, I know I didn’t tell you to prepare anything.”

“No, I’d love to,” he assured her. He was in mild shock that she wanted to listen to him at all, let alone have her whole class listen to him ramble.

“Perfect.” She smiled and picked up a piece of paper, holding it out to him. “Our schedule. I try to run a pretty tight ship in terms of consistency.”

Spencer took the schedule and nodded. “A predictable schedule is one of the most important factors in promoting and building positive social and emotional development in children. Consistency in routines helps kids feel secure and build independence.”

“Exactly,” she agreed with a smile. “So we have morning meeting, reading skills, story time, and free art before lunch.” She pointed to each block on the color coded schedule, and his brain buzzed pleasantly at the order and structure. “After lunch we have math, then gym, and then maybe you can do your dinosaur lesson here, where we would usually do social studies?”

Her fingers brushed just lightly over his where he had the paper clutched in his hand, and he felt it vibrate through his whole body.“Yeah, um, perfect.”

“And then the rest of the day is just free play on Fridays,” she informed him. She raised her eyebrows and continued, “Again, you’re going to be a hot commodity, so prepare to have twenty best friends vying for your attention.”

The only person whose attention he was really concerned about was wearing a dinosaur sweater at the moment. “That is a sentence I never thought I’d hear,” he laughed. “Do you need me to do anything before the kids get here?”

“Hmm.” She looked around her desk before snapping her head back to him. “Oh, duh, yes. I almost forgot— you need to pick another story to read.” She gestured to a set of bookshelves in the back corner of the classroom. “The kids are _dying_ to have you read to them again. It’s all organized by theme and topic, so just— whatever strikes your fancy.”

Spencer moved toward the shelves, looking over the labels on each of the book boxes. They were written in varying sizes of scrawled print, with hand drawn illustrations for each theme and topic— fairy tales, animals, transportation, super heroes, insects, weather. “I love your labeling system.”

“Thanks!” She joined him in front of the shelves. “I used to have these really cute clip art labels, but I think it’s important for the kids to have a hand in creating and decorating our space. Plus, they’re always hilarious. Look at this one.”

She crouched down next to him and pulled out a bin, holding the label up for Spencer to see. He glanced at the drawing— a princess with a very large mouth, practically taking up her whole face. “Like, why is her mouth so big?” Y/N laughed.

Spencer laughed, too, and tried not to let it catch in his throat at how close Y/N was to him. She looked at him then, eyes full of humor and face stretched into such a pretty grin, and he rocked back on his heels. He rocked a little too far, almost toppling over backwards, and she grabbed his arm to steady him.

“Whoa, doctor,” she laughed. He couldn’t concentrate on anything except the feel of her hand on him. “Don’t let the kid art bowl you over.” She put the bin back on the shelf and stood. “If you’re lucky, you might go home with a couple personalized pieces.”

She checked her watch. “Okay, I’ve got to go get the kids. You stay here and pick your story.”

With that he was left to peruse the books— hundreds of them. He looked over the bins carefully, before his eyes settled on one labeled _Teacher’s Favorites_ , with an adorable interpretation of Ms. Y/L/N drawn on the card. He smiled as he shuffled through the titles— _The Giving Tree, Where the Wild Things Are, The Story of Ferdinand, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, Dragons Love Tacos, The Rainbow Fish_ …

At the back of the bin was a book he’d never seen before. He skimmed through the story and quickly discovered why it was in the favorites bin. With the book in hand, he stood and turned as excited murmurs started to drift through the door. He heard Y/N’s voice, soft and calming.

“Okay, kindergarten. I know we’re _so_ excited for Spencer to be our volunteer today.” She dropped her voice to a faux serious tone. “But we still have to take care of our kindergarten business. That means we gotta put away our briefcases! And let’s make sure we take our Very Important Papers to our mailboxes. When we’re done with that, Brian and Tia are reporting for duty as Class Helpers today.”

The class began to file into the classroom, waving excitedly at Spencer as they entered. He smiled and waved at each child, and Michael came to give him a hug. “I can’t believe you’re going to be here for the _whole day_. It’s gonna be so much fun.” Michael gave him another squeeze and then headed over to hang up his things.

Spencer watched in relative awe as the class went about their morning. He could see how someone might view the room as chaotic— there was certainly a lot of noise and movement. But every child knew exactly what to do. They knew how to hang their belongings ( _on the hook_ , Steph informed him, _so they don’t fall on the floor_ ), what to put in their mailbox (field trip forms and absent notes, but also drawings for Ms. Y/L/N), and where to go when they were done (to the carpet for morning meeting).

Michael invited him to sit on the carpet, and he obliged. Spencer would have sat there all day if it meant Y/N would keep looking at him like she was— all warm eyes and soft smile.

Morning meeting was student-led. The day’s helpers stood in front of the carpet and recited the days of the week song, counted the days they’d been in school, and reviewed their class rules— which were all centered around being kind and taking care of each other and their things. The whole thing ran like a well-oiled machine.

During their reading block, Y/N had the whole class stand and move every six minutes or so— wiggling, air spelling, dancing, switching spots on the rug. She merely had to raise one eyebrow and press her lips together to correct the very few rule infractions. Before he knew it, he’d already spent an hour with them.

“Okay my dears, it’s almost story time!” Y/N clapped her hands together and moved to her laptop. “Let’s do a little GoNoodle to get our wiggles under control.”

She put on one of their clear favorites and then made her way to where Spencer had moved to lean against one of the tables. “Did you find a good one?” He held up his book choice, and her face broke out into a smile. “God, that’s one of my absolute favorites. Jabari is so stinking cute.”

“I’d never seen it before,” Spencer admitted. “But I fell in love with it right away. Jabari is very cute,” he agreed.

The brain break came to a close, and Spencer made his way to the rocking chair. The kids quickly found their carpet squares, nearly vibrating with excitement. Y/N cleared her throat and praised, “Wow kindergarten, we got to our spots so quickly! I love seeing us criss cross applesauce with our spoons in the bowl, keeping everyone safe and giving each other space.” She moved to stand next to Spencer. “You’re going to _love_ the story that Spencer picked for us. Turn your listening ears alllllll the way up.” She pretended to turn up a dial on her ear, and the children mirrored her. “Beautiful. I’m going to be listening right over here.”

While Spencer [read](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DhwXKM7cyYGM&t=YWM2YjE5NzNhNjM5OTgxMjcwZDY5NzVlZjk5MjgzYzI1NWZkZGZlZiw3NTRlMjAwMjEzNTUwYjRjMThmMWUzY2M5MDgzMTQyZmQyODBjN2Mx&ts=1608841299), she set up the supplies for art— paint, glue, paper scraps, and the miscellaneous button and bead collection. She smiled as she listened to Jabari’s story— of confidence, second guessing, a little pep talk, and taking a leap of faith.

Spencer had them take deep breaths with Jabari, move their arms like they were climbing the ladder, and curl their toes inside their shoes when Jabari curled his over the edge of the diving board.

When he finished the story, he led them in another discussion. Y/N listened as her excited students got more and more eager to be heard. She looked up from setting out cups of glue when the chatter threatened to overtake Spencer’s questions.

“Hmmm, hang on one second, Spencer,” she said, and he gave her a grateful, slightly panicked nod. “Let me just say, I love that everyone is using their super smart brains. You know that’s one of my favorite things about you!” She turned her mouth into the cutest pout he’d ever seen. “But something is making me _so_ sad. What do you think is making me sad, Brian?”

“We aren’t raising our hands.”

“You’re so right, Bri. When we’re really excited, sometimes we forget, and that’s okay!” Y/N tapped her temple. “But we have to remember to use our super smart brains, _and_ our very loving hearts.” She reminded them by putting her hand over her heart. “Remember we use our hearts to make sure that we’re taking care of our friends’ feelings.”

She put her hands on her hips. “So— everybody kiss your brain, please!” The class pressed kisses to their fingers before bringing them to their foreheads. “Now, hug your heart!” The kids wrapped their arms around themselves and squeezed. “Tight, tight, tight, so you don’t forget.” Y/N smiled at their little hug groans. “Okay, okay, don’t squeeze too hard, sillies!” The class giggled. “All right. Do you think our brains and hearts are ready?”

The class gave her a thumbs up, and Spencer gave her a grateful smile. He was able to finish his discussion in relative peace, and Y/N was able to perch herself on the table and watch it unfold. He already knew many of their names from the last time he was in, and she couldn’t help but find that… incredibly attractive. Although she knew his above-average memory was probably to thank, it was also an indication of just how closely and carefully he listened. She never thought that she’d find paying attention so hot, but here they were.

When they came to the final lull in the conversation, Y/N came to stand in front of the carpet. “Okay, well before any of y’all decide to remind me that Spencer’s story voices are better than mine, let’s get ready for art.”

...

Art time was… something, Spencer decided. The classroom was a mess of paper scraps, buttons, stickers, paint, and confetti pieces. But still, the chaos was controlled. For the most part. About fourteen minutes before lunch, there was a vicious screech from one of the tables. Spencer’s eyes locked on the culprit of the sound immediately— one very angry little boy at the painting table.

As quickly as the sound was produced, Y/N stood from the place she’d been crouched and helping to glue down a button. She only had to raise her eyebrow and move to sit at her desk chair, pulling out one of the small chairs at her kidney table as she went. The boy stomped to the chair and dropped himself in it. Spencer moved a little closer, wanting to hear how Y/N would handle the first real chaos he’d seen.

“I wanted to use the yellow paint stick!” the boy screamed. “I asked her nicely, but Samiya didn’t let me use it!”

“Oof, that does sound like a problem, huh?” Y/N agreed, voice even. “Jordan, can we do some bee breaths? I think that might help you calm your body and use a quieter voice. I want to help you, but it kind of hurts my ears when you’re speaking so loudly.”

When Jordan nodded, Y/N continued, “Okay, so we breathe in through our nose— one, two, three, four—” He sucked in a deep breath. “And then _zzzzzzz_.” Spencer watched as they repeated this process nine more times, inhaling through their noses and then buzzing on the out breath.

When Jordan’s little body had stopped shaking, Y/N put one hand over her heart and the other over her belly. “Are we calm and ready?” Jordan copied her hand placements and nodded. “Okay. So, you have a problem. What would you like to do about it?”

“You can tell her she has to share and—”

“Oh wait. It kind of sounds like you’re asking me to solve your problem. But I can’t solve your problem, can I?” When the boy huffed, Y/N elaborated, “I can help you! I can help you come up with a solution. But I can’t fix your problem for you.”

Jordan stomped his foot, and Spencer admired Y/N’s reserve when she dropped her chin into her hand and said, “That would be nice, wouldn’t it? If someone else could solve all our problems. But _whomp whomp_ , unfortunately that’s not how it works.” Spencer saw the boy’s lips twitch infinitesimally before he pulled them back into a very serious frown. “Buuuuuut, I think there’s something in this room that could help us come up with a solution. Do you know what it is?” Jordan’s frown didn’t budge.

“The [solution box](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fchallengingbehavior.cbcs.usf.edu%2Fdocs%2FSocialEmotionalSkills_solution-kit_cue-cards.pdf&t=Mzg5NjUyMDlhNGU5ZjE0OGMxYmVmZGEyZDZlNjUzYzM2ZDdiZGU2Myw5MmI1MzY1YjExZTdlZDg0ZWIyYzQxNjQ2ZjQxNGJkOTJmYTk4ZmVk&ts=1608841299)!” Lily called out helpfully. Spencer was relieved to know he wasn’t the only one eavesdropping.

Y/N gasped. “Oh my goodness, yes! Lily, can you bring it over to us so Jordan and I can use it?” When Lily turned to get the box, Y/N asked Jordan, “Doesn’t that make you feel a little better already— Lily being such a good friend to us?”

Jordan shrugged his shoulders, but Y/N just smiled as Lily skipped over, a blue pencil box in hand. Y/N accepted it from her and praised, “Thank you, ma’am!”

She set the box in front of Jordan, popping open the top. “Okay, let’s look through our choices.”

Jordan pushed the box towards Y/N, and she sighed. “Jordan. I can’t pick your solution. You have to do that. Because the problem isn’t up here, is it?” she asked, tapping on her temple. She touched the top of his head lightly with one finger. “It’s up here. My brain doesn’t have any problems in it right now, that’s why I can help. My brain has lots of free space up there for thinking. But only your brain can pick the right solution for you.”

Spencer didn’t believe in love at first sight. Physical attraction, yes— and he’d certainly felt that pull the first time he saw her. She was gorgeous; he could admit that much to himself at least.

But love was something that lived in the heart and took time to bloom. If he was honest with himself, the seed had been germinating for a while. The silly costume, the converse, the tea date, the _teach me something I don’t know_ , the exception to his rule… really he should have known that it was only a matter of time. And as he watched her shuffle through laminated solution cards with a grumpy five year old, he felt the petals begin to open.

...

“I forgot to tell you— we eat lunch together on Fridays,” Y/N said sheepishly. “I usually get whatever the school lunch offering is. You can absolutely go to lunch somewhere in the real world if you want.”

“No, no,” Spencer insisted. “I’ll eat with you guys.”

Y/N smiled. “Well then, I hope you like chicken nuggets.”

“I happen to love chicken nuggets,” Spencer confirmed.

Y/N smiled and turned to her quiet class. “Okay, kindergarten, I’m _ravenous_ — or so hungry. Let’s get some lunch!”

They made it quickly through the lunch line and back to their classroom. Everyone found their seats and began chatting happily amongst themselves. Spencer was beckoned to Michael’s table, and he fielded questions between chicken nuggets. During math, he helped count and make ten.

A little before 1:00, Y/N lined the students up to head to the gym. “I’m just going to drop them off, and then I’ll be right back.” Spencer nodded, and she popped a bubble into her mouth and waited for all her students to follow suit before motioning them out into the hallway.

Without her in the room to dominate his attention, Spencer finally took a minute to look around the classroom. On his last visit, he’d been so enamored by her that he’d barely even registered the space.

Everything was meticulously organized and labeled, all with hand drawn pictures. The organization was reassuring for him as an adult, so he was certain that the students felt the same. The wall behind her desk was covered floor to ceiling in kid art— drawings of animals, superheroes, hearts, and _lots_ of portraits of Ms. Y/L/N. He smiled at a particularly creative rendering of her with bushy purple eyebrows.

There were about a dozen picture frames littering her desk— he assumed her parents, a couple with friends, one with Anita, and one with Roald. There was also one of Y/N in the classroom wearing a purple velvet tuxedo, which was… really doing something for him. She was standing in between two students who were dressed up as well, wearing a giant Q and U.

“Okay, so. We’ve got an hour before the kiddos are back,” Y/N said, entering the room and breaking him from his enchantment.

He turned and gestured to her desk area. “I love your wall of art.”

“Ah, yes, the Kid Art Hall of Fame.” She smiled. “Also known as the Love Wall— or the wall I look at when my kids are driving me crazy, and I need to remember that I actually love them and my job,” she laughed.

“I think that’s a very valid coping strategy.” He gestured to the picture that was now burned into his brain. “What’s, um— what’s happening here?”

She leaned in a little closer. “Ah yes, the wedding of Q and U. Every time we write a word that has the q sound, we have to remember that the ‘u’ comes right after it, because Q and U want to be together forever.”

“That’s... incredibly adorable,” Spencer remarked, smiling ear to ear. “And I would guess that they never forget it.”

“That’s the idea,” she agreed, returning his smile. “Plus, I get to wear this incredible tux.”

“Yeah, it’s— um, it’s really amazing.” He resisted the urge to pull at his collar.

She perched on one of the desks across from where he stood. “So, how’ve you been?”

“Um, good— I’ve been good.” He sat facing her, leaning against the table. “Work has been busy, but the last two cases actually ended pretty well, all things considered.”

“Well, that’s good. I worry about you out there. All of you,” she corrected quickly. “I, um— I couldn’t imagine doing what you do.”

“Your concern is very much appreciated.” He shrugged. “It’s difficult, but there’s also nothing else I’d rather be doing.” He cleared his throat. “How’s your family doing?”

“Everybody’s doing well.” She folded her hands in her lap, wringing them slightly. “Thanksgiving was hard without her, but we all knew that would be the case. Christmas will be tougher, I think. The last few years we’ve been able to go to the facility and have at least one lucid hour or so with her.” She shrugged. “Even at the end, there was always a possibility that she’d recognize my mom at least. The finality is really starting to sink in I guess.”

His heart ached for her, and also for himself and his mom. “I wish I had something better to say than I’m sorry.”

She smiled, and it was only a little painful. “Empathy helps, even if it still hurts.”

He hesitated for a second, before deciding he wanted her to know. “My mom has Alzheimer’s.” Her eyes widened a bit. “She, um— she has schizophrenia as well. She’s been battling that since I was a kid, but the Alzheimer’s is a recent development.” He curled his fingers around the edge of the table, squeezing and pushing himself to continue. “I know what you meant when you said there are many little deaths before the, um— the final one.” He took a deep breath. “When I was a kid, they were temporary. After an episode, she’d come back to herself like nothing had happened. But in the last few years, they’ve become more permanent. Once a memory is gone, it’s just… gone.”

“Oh, Spencer— I’m so sorry.” She smoothed her hands down the tops of her thighs, pondering for a long moment. “There really isn’t anything better to say, is there?”

He laughed a little. “No. But sorry does help.”

They were quiet for a minute, and then Spencer asked, “Can I see the solution box?”

She was a bit taken aback, but she recovered quickly. “Um— yeah, sure.” 

Y/N rose from her place at the table and moved to the kid-level shelf in the corner to retrieve the blue pencil box. She returned with a small smile and held it out to him. “My first year was a literal nightmare. I was at a different school than this one, but I’m sure it would have been terrible anywhere— first years usually are.”

Spencer opened the box, looking through the cards, and she continued, “So, my second year, we started solution cards. And they honestly changed my life.” She huffed out a laugh. “We started with the general ones that are provided in the kit, and then we started adding our own.”

He held up a hand drawn card of a water bottle with sparkles. She nodded. “Sensory bottles— you shake it up when you’re upset, and then watch the glitter settle until you’re calm again.”

He held up another— one clearly drawn by Y/N— of a child puffing out their cheeks. “Take deep breaths. The kid version of that looked… _very_ inappropriate,” she chuckled.

He held up one more— a photograph of her with her eyes closed, one hand over her heart and one over her belly. “Calm and ready. We listen to our heart and our lungs until they’re calm and our brain is ready.”

He set the cards back into the box and gently closed the top. “I’ve seen you do a lot of wonderful things, but this is… the best.”

Her lips parted slightly at his compliment, and he could have kissed her right on her shocked mouth in the middle of her classroom. “Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“Thank you. For not only telling your kids it’s okay to feel things, but also teaching them how to recognize and process what they’re feeling.” He tapped his fingers on his knees. “Psychologist Ron Levant estimates that as many as 80 percent of men in our society have a mild to severe form of alexithymia— essentially a clinical inability to identify and describe emotions. I see the effects of that every single day in my work.”

He furrowed his brow. “Of course, the behaviors are more often tied to psychopathy or sociopathy, but— it says something that many of the men who commit serial crimes often have backstories of shame and emotional suppression.” He looked at her then, a little sheepish. “Sorry— maybe that’s weird to tell you, but I just— I wonder sometimes if we could stop terrible things from happening by just… being kinder to children.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s not weird at all. Being kinder to children seems like a pretty foolproof plan, generally speaking. I can tell you from experience that being mean certainly doesn’t make kids behave better.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully at her. “You: mean? I don’t believe that for a second.”

She laughed a little. “A popular piece of advice for first year teachers is ‘don’t smile until October.’” She shrugged. “I tried it. It was terrible. It did nothing except make all of us miserable, and our classroom dynamic never recovered.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry your first year was so difficult. I’d be willing to bet that it still wasn’t as bad as you think, Ms. Y/L/N.”

She smiled at him then, and there was the urge to kiss her again. To hold her close. To destroy anything and everything that might hurt her. To make sure she never stopped smiling.

…

They spent the rest of the hour talking about everything and nothing, and then it was time to pick up the kids from the gym. When they arrived back to the classroom, Y/N turned her chipmunk cheeks into a look of excitement.

“Kindergarten. Ms. Y/L/N pulled some strings and convinced Spencer to teach us about— oh my gosh, I don’t even think you’re ready.” Their bodies were practically quaking with excitement, and she had to fight to contain her smile. “ _Dinosaurs_.”

She led them in a very adorable silent cheer, and then she schooled her face into her best attempt at serious. “Now, remember we need to be using our smart brains _and_ our loving hearts, so please show me with your bodies what I need to see during Spencer’s lesson.”

Twenty little hands went up in the air. “Oh my goodness, y’all are experts. I’m so proud.” She clapped her hands together. “Okay, hmmm… let’s slow motion walk to our carpet squares.”

...

Spencer’s dinosaur lesson was exactly the hit she knew it would be. She manned the computer, pulling up images as he recited innumerable facts and answered countless questions. And it was in this info dump about dinosaurs that she realized the falling was over, and she was in love with Spencer Reid.

The way his face lit up with excitement— not just about the facts themselves, but for the joy of sharing them. The way he articulated his points with his hands— his _gorgeous_ hands. Who knew she had a thing for hands? They way he had an answer for every question, regardless of how silly or strange. The way he danced along with them when the kids demanded to listen to Dinosaur Stomp. The way he was so unafraid to be himself— brilliant, sure, but so kind and warm despite all the tragedy he’d seen.

The falling was over, and now all she could do was watch from her place on the metaphorical ground, waiting to see if he’d fall, too.

...

Before any of them realized, it was time to pack up to go home. Y/N assured the kids that they could do another Q&A session once they were bundled up. She and Spencer hurried to help zip up coats and adjust scarves. When everyone was ready, the questions rolled out.

_“What’s your favorite food?”_

“I really love jello.”

_“How old are you?”_

“37.”

_“Have you ever climbed a tree?”_

“Actually, no, but I did climb the fence in my backyard once.”

_“Do you have a wife?”_

“Steph— you already asked him that last time, sweetie, remember?”

_“Do you have a pet?”_

“I have a fish named Jeremy.”

_“Can you really do magic?”_

Michael piped up then. “Yeah, he can do lots of magic.”

The noise level rose a solid four notches, and Y/N laughed. “Whoa, whoa, okay, guys.” She looked at Spencer and lowered her voice just slightly. “If you don’t have anything prepared, I can—”

“I’m slightly offended that you’d think I don’t always have a little magic prepared.”

The corners of her lips twitched. “Well, okay then.” He pulled a deck of cards from his pocket, and she grinned. “You do _not_ just carry around a deck of playing cards.”

He pursed his lips. “Michael may have given me a little heads up.” He turned to the class, fanning out the deck of cards. “Now, Ms. Y/L/N, I’m going to have you choose a card from this deck. Don’t show it to me, but you can show it to everyone else.”

Y/N pulled a card— the king of hearts. Of course. She held it up so the kids could see, holding a finger to her lips while Spencer closed his eyes. “Has everyone seen the card?”

At their confirmation, Spencer opened his eyes. “Okay, now put your card back in the deck.” He shuffled them a bit before turning to her, a glint in his eye. “I need you to blow on this card, please.”

She did as he asked, and then he tapped on the deck and pulled the top card. “And this is your card,” he said, smirking and holding it out for all of them to see.

The seven of spades. The room was quiet, and Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Um. No.”

His face dropped, and her heart clenched. “That’s not your card?”

He looked a little panicked, and she tried not to laugh. She shook her head. “Oh— hold on.” He folded the cards again, tapped twice on the top, and pulled the next card from the deck. “ _This_ is your card.”

The two of clubs. She shook her head. “You’re serious?” he asked. The class started giggling. Y/N turned her head and shushed them with one powerful look. “Ohh, wait a second. I think— I think maybe…”

Y/N turned to see him looking at her rather intently. She could feel her cheeks heating up, and she blamed it on the second hand embarrassment she felt for his failed trick. And then his hand was coming up to brush against her face, over her hair, and her breathing stopped entirely. She heard a tiny _flick_. And then he was smiling at her, holding the king of hearts. “Is this your card?”

Thankfully the class erupted into a cheer, because she couldn’t have answered him if she tried. She swallowed audibly and thanked the universe for whatever force gave her the strength to resist pressing her lips to his in front of twenty kindergarteners.

The ding of the intercom signaled the afternoon announcements, and she busied herself with silently organizing her line and leading them out into the hallway. He caught her eye on their way out the door, and she couldn’t contain her smile.

When they were finally in the carpool loop, she folded her arms. “You had me going there for a minute.”

He laughed. “It’s all part of the act.”

She hummed, another smile playing at her lips. “Jeremy the fish, huh?”

Spencer hummed. “My best friend has a thing about saving all the animals from pet stores. There was a fish at the pet store in the mall that she said looked sad, and somehow I got roped into being a fish dad.” He shrugged. “Jeremy was the name on the tank, and it, um. It just kind of stuck.”

She was relieved that her brain was finally rebooting, although her heart was still doing backflips. “I’m sure he’s living a very happy life in the Reid household.”

“A life of luxury, really. You should see his tank.”

With a stroke of unearned confidence, she offered, “Maybe someday I will.” She kept her eyes on the vehicles in the loop, so she didn’t see the way his smile overtook his entire face.

...

**Y/N Y/L/N**

**Re: Thought of you**

**Hi!**

**I hope you had a wonderful Thanksgiving. I saw this and thought of you. We miss seeing you round these parts!**

**Y/N**

**1 Attachment -** **Jello.jpg**

—

_Spencer Reid_

_Re: Re: Thought of you_

_Hi!_

_Happy St. Nicholas Day! Indulge in some chocolate coins today— they represent St. Nicholas’ legendary rescue mission to save three impoverished girls by paying their marriage dowries in gold._

_My Thanksgiving was uneventful. I hope you enjoyed your break. I wish I’d been in the carpool loop instead of the places we’ve been recently._

_I’m not sure that I understand the reference in that photo, but I do love jello._

_Spencer_

—

**It’s a meme, Dr. Reid. A meme. And… I’m sorry, are you telling me you don’t know Lionel Ritchie?? Because I don’t know if I can be friends with someone who doesn’t know one of the most prolific musicians of all time.**

**I’m sorry that work has been so rough for you all lately. I guess the worst of humanity doesn’t take a break for the holidays.**

—

_I know who he is! I don’t believe I’ve heard the song though. I’ll listen to it ASAP._

_On the contrary, the holiday season cansometimes exacerbate the depravity._

_P.S. Could I possibly have your mailing address?_

—

**You better! I’d like to maintain this friendship.**

**Stay safe, doctor.**

**p.s. Is this a gift giving thing?? I love gifts. Send me yours, too.**

—

_It may or may not be a gift giving thing._

—

**I’m so excited!!!!!!!**

—

_This_ _is... actually the_ _perfect gift_ _. I don’t know what to say. Thank you doesn’t feel like enough._

_Merry Christmas, Y/N._

__

__

—

**I think you win the award for** **Perfect Gift** **. Great (and average!) minds think alike, I see.**

**Merry Christmas, Spencer.**

****


	7. Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Spencer’s unresolved trauma catches up with him. Reader gets her heart broken.  
> Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
> 
> Category: angst, I’m so sorry guys
> 
> Warnings/Includes: brief mention of violence and details of a case; brief mention of prison, past trauma; a lil self-loathing and self-sabotaging
> 
> Word count: 3.8k
> 
> a/n: I knew that this was where this story was going from the very beginning. The dialogue is one of the first parts I had written. It still hurts. Relevant to the story: I operate with the understanding that the Jeid arc does not exist, which also means that Spencer never went to therapy in season 15. 
> 
> Song Recs: Shrike by Hozier; Better As a Memory by Kenny Chesney (don’t come for me if Spencer made playlists this would ABSOLUTELY be on there)

Spencer made his way to Emily’s office, ignoring the team’s eyes on him— varying degrees of understanding, concern, and uncertainty plain on their faces. As he reached the threshold, he paused for a second before moving into her line of sight. When he moved into the doorway, she looked up and waved him in. He closed the door behind him.

She gestured to the chair in front of her desk. Spencer hesitated for only a split second, but it was long enough for her to notice. He lowered himself into the chair and met her eyes.

She folded her hands on top of the desk. “How are you feeling?”

He drummed his fingers across his kneecaps. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, and they both knew it. She bit back a sigh and flipped open the folder in front of her. “I’m finished with the official report. I wanted to go over it with you before I submit it to the director.” She looked at him briefly before reading out the report. “On January 9th, our team pursued a lead at the residence of suspect Andrew Hurley. We divided into teams to cover the two entrances to the home, as well as the barn behind the house.”

Spencer fidgeted slightly in his chair and rubbed the tips of his fingers together. Emily continued, “During the raid, Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid became separated from the team and was ambushed and disarmed by the suspect in the barn.” She paused but didn’t look at him. “The team was unaware of the altercation for some time, during which Dr. Reid employed various approved restraint methods and was ultimately forced to utilize self-defense measures to preserve his own life. Consequently, Mr. Hurley sustained serious injuries.”

She did look at him then, a steady and unrelenting gaze that had him shrinking inside himself. “However, I have determined that Dr. Reid’s actions were justified in order to maintain his own safety.” She returned her eyes to the report. “Mr. Hurley was detained and treated for his injuries at Sebastian River Medical Center, and he is expected to make a full recovery. Based on the cognitive interviews and physical evidence, a grand jury hearing is scheduled for January 25th.” She brought her hands to rest on top of the report.

“I’ll sign off on it and deliver it to the director by the end of business today.” She let out the sigh she’d been holding back. “Reid.”

He pressed his mouth into a thin line, torn between shame and vindication. “Emily.”

“What happened in that barn was unacceptable. And I need you to recognize that.” Her eyes were back on him, a leader’s gaze boring into a weak link. “You went against a direct order. You put your life in danger unnecessarily, and in the process you endangered this entire team. Furthermore, you could have cost us the ability to close this case, to put Hurley away and bring justice to his victims.”

“It won’t happen again,” he assured her.

“No, it won’t.” Her tone told him that if it did, he’d have bigger problems than a meeting in her office. “My recommendation to the director is that you transition to your next mandatory leave cycle early.”

“I can handle—”

“It’s not a request. You’re on sabbatical starting tomorrow. That’s an order, and one you’d do well to follow.” She closed the file in front of her. “We’ll see you back in the bullpen on March 7th.”

“I don’t need more time off, Emily,” Spencer snapped.

He could see her grind her teeth together at his tone, but he couldn’t seem to care enough to feel contrite. She took a deep breath in through her nose, leveling him with a pointed look. “If Simmons hadn’t broken it up, you’d have killed Hurley on the floor of that barn.”

His mind snapped back to the lifeless eyes of Hurley’s victims— eight year old boys in shallow graves. Boys who died afraid, and in pain, and crying out for their mothers. His thoughts raced to the feel of Hurley’s throat under his arm, the crack of the zygomatic under his fist. Emily was right of course. If Matt hadn’t found them in the barn and dragged him up and off of Hurley’s nearly lifeless body, Spencer would have killed him without compunction.

“Reid.” The stern edge was gone from her voice. Spencer refocused his eyes on her face, now showcasing an underlying concern that made his stomach turn. “I’m not recommending another cycle of mandatory counseling at this time, although I reserve the right to require it moving forward. But… I’m asking you to take care of yourself. You’ve been through a lot in the last two years. More than a lot.”

“I said I’m fine,” he insisted, but there was less fire behind it this time.

“And I’m not saying you aren’t,” she countered. “But I am saying that the person in that barn… that wasn’t you. That was not the Reid that I know.” Emily tilted her head and furrowed her brow. “The Reid I know uses his intellect and empathy to see angles that the rest of us miss. He depends on the strength of his mind and his unwavering compassion to diffuse conflicts without violence. He invites his friends to foreign film showings and puppet theater.”

When he didn’t budge, she let out a long breath. “I want you to take the next fifty days to find that Reid and bring him back to us.”

…

Y/N dropped into her desk chair with a huff. They’d been back from winter break for two weeks, and she already needed another vacation. But tomorrow was Friday, and then they had a long weekend. She could make it through one more day.

She closed her eyes for a long moment, tired in the way that only kindergarten teachers fresh off a long break can be. She heard the click of Anita’s shoes coming before she even entered the room, and Y/N couldn’t stop the twitch of her lips.

“Dude. How is it only Thursday?” Anita flopped down into the plush Calm Corner chair.

“This has been the longest week of my life,” Y/N agreed. “My kids were off the chain.”

“There is so much drama in middle school right now,” Anita groaned. “I can’t keep up with all the tea, and you know how I love to stay up to date on the freshest brews.” She shot Y/N a look. “Speaking of, where’s the good doctor?”

“I think they’ve had a lot going on at work,” Y/N surmised. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Jareau in over a month.”

“Well, I’m getting antsy,” Anita complained. “Thought for sure you’d be going steady by now.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t help but feel a little impatient herself. If she’d known it would be this long before she’d see him again, she might have made a move when he’d volunteered. Then again, probably not. She sighed.

Her phone chimed with an email message, and she automatically swiped the screen open to read it.

_Spencer Reid  
Re:_

_Are you free today? If you are, I’ll be at Soho._

…

Spencer sat at the table in the corner of the coffee shop. He sipped absentmindedly at his tea, almost gone cold. He hadn’t waited for a reply before leaving Quantico. He drove straight to the city, figuring he’d wait at Soho until he felt some semblance of calm returning to his body.

He didn’t know why he’d emailed Y/N, and he wasn’t sure he really wanted her to show up. Usually he’d talk to Penelope or maybe JJ. But he’d wanted to get as far from the BAU as possible, and he didn’t want to drag Penelope away from the colorful, safe corner of the world she’d created for herself. He didn’t want to fill it with all the tragedy she’d tried so hard to leave behind.

If Y/N did show, he was certain he could keep the conversation vague, focus on her and the classroom, ask her about her holidays. She wasn’t a profiler, didn’t know his tells well enough. She’d be none the wiser, and he’d have her warmth and presence to focus his energy on, if only for a few hours.

Every time the bell chimed, his eyes flew to the door, searching for her. He knew it was ridiculous. He’d only known her for one hundred and eleven days. Pragmatically, he knew she shouldn’t be the one he wanted to talk to. Realistically, he wasn’t planning to burden her with all of the mess of the past week, the past year, his entire life.

But in the six hundred and forty seven minutes he’d spent with her since September, he’d felt more like himself than he ever had. He was never afraid to be himself with her— the silly story voices, the ridiculous costume, the magic trick, the vulnerability about his mom. All of these pieces of himself were things he usually waited _years_ to show people. It had taken her a matter of weeks to draw them out.

He couldn’t help but believe that if he wanted to, he could tell her everything. She’d know exactly what to say. She’d listen for as long as he could keep talking. She’d cover his shaking hands and wrap him up in the warmth of her spirit. She’d give of herself to guide him back to the person he used to be. She’d be more than willing to use her radiance to illuminate the dark so that he might have a little light again.

The bell sounded, and his eyes focused, and there she was. She was wrapped up in a puffed jacket, a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. Her nose was adorably red from the cold, and she rubbed her hands together as the door closed behind her. Her eyes found him immediately. A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth, and she gave him an enthusiastic wave. And he knew that he was right about all of it.

She approached the table, unwinding her scarf. “Hi!”

“Hi.”

Her eyes flickered over his face, and then settled on his mostly empty mug. “I’ll get you a refill, and then we’ll catch up?”

He nodded, and she headed to the counter. There had been a part of him that thought she wouldn’t come, but of course she did. For some reason, unbeknownst to him, she liked talking to him. Even among his closest friends, he was often made to feel self-conscious about his tendency to ramble, but Y/N had literally asked him to. She sought him out, asked him questions, listened intently, and remembered things he’d told her. She was kind and thoughtful and genuine. Of course she came when he called.

She returned with two mugs, carefully setting them down on the tiny table. She unzipped and removed her jacket, hanging it on the back of her chair and revealing a crew neck sweater covered in tiny astronauts and rocket ships. When she sat across from him, her hands wrapped around the mug and her eyes met his.

“Hi.”

He couldn’t stop his lips from twitching, despite the events of the day. “You said that already.”

She laughed, and he felt the weight begin to lift. “Yeah, well, I haven’t seen you in forever, so— I’m just making up for lost time.”

“Sixty one days.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s been sixty one days, eighty eight minutes, and approximately,” he looked at his watch, “fourteen seconds since we saw each other last.”

She laughed again, and his mouth completed its curve. She tucked her hair behind her ear. “I like that you’ve been counting.” She let her chin come to rest in her hand, eyes studying his face. “How are you?”

He wanted to lie, but she was looking at him so earnestly that he mumbled out, “I’m managing.”

She mirrored the way he’d looked at her across this same table nearly three months ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.” That was a lie, too. But asking her to meet him was enough of a burden.

“Okay. Well, if you change your mind at any point, let me know.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Until then, I can just regale you with all the kindergarten stories you’ve missed while you were out saving lives.”

And regale him she did. For almost an hour, he listened to her tales of love (budding crushes were taking over recess time), loss (the class pet— a stuffed zebra— had accidentally taken a swim in the Atlantic on a vacation to Florida), and lessons learned…

“So, in case there was ever any doubt, we are now _painfully_ aware that we shouldn’t attempt to flush our underwear.” Y/N let out an exasperated laugh.

She’d been talking to him for fifty three minutes, and his heart already felt one thousand times lighter. “I’m really glad I wasn’t there for that one.”

“I really wish that was the only poop story I had.” She shook her head. “There are a lot of things they don’t tell you in grad school. I think there’d be a global teacher shortage if they warned you about the amount of bodily fluid management involved in teaching kindergarten.”

She toyed with the edge of her empty mug. He watched the movement of her fingers.

“Do you—”

“Do you—”

She laughed and gestured for him to speak first.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

…

They ended up in Mitchell Park. The trees were bare and the grass was brown, but he was with her, and so it was beautiful.

They’d been walking in comfortable silence, when she asked, “Did you change your mind? About talking about it.”

Spencer put his hands into his pockets. “It’s, um— it’s kind of a lot.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got time.”

“I don’t mean— I mean, it would take some time to get through it all. But it’s also— it’s a lot.”

“We don’t have to.” He could feel her eyes on him. “Do you talk to— _someone_ about it?”

“I talked with my unit chief today,” he answered.

“Okay. But— I mean, have you ever— _talked_ to someone. Like, a professional.”

Spencer bristled slightly. Although he knew she wasn’t passing judgement, her question exposed the reality that she thought he could use it. “I’ve had some mandated counseling over the years.”

“Obviously it’s your choice whether you talk to someone or not,” she mused. “I just— I know that I’ve benefited a lot from seeing my therapist.”

Spencer was unsure of what to do with that information. Here she was, confessing that she went to therapy— sweet, lovely Y/N. In comparison, he wasn’t sure if even daily meetings with a counselor would be enough to tame the darkness that had grown and festered inside him over the years. That sometimes threatened to swallow him whole.

For a long while, there was only the crunch of the frozen ground beneath their feet. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but there was an uncertainty about them that felt uncharacteristically heavy. He was hyper aware of her presence, and so he felt her pace slowing down before she came to a complete stop. He walked a few more paces before it became clear that she wasn’t planning to catch up.

He turned and saw that she’d taken a seat on one of the park benches. He carefully made his way to the bench, sitting beside her quietly. She didn’t look at him, but instead studied her fingernails intently. She cracked her knuckles once, twice, and then turned her body slightly toward him on the bench.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” she hedged carefully. “I didn’t mean to tell you what to do, or like, imply that there’s anything wrong with you. There’s nothing wrong with you at all. I just—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer assured her. The way she looked at him then— like he was something fragile, delicate— made his eyes burn. He kept his voice even. “I know what you meant.”

She smiled, eyes crinkling and filled with something that felt familiar and far away all at once. “Good. I can’t have you out here thinking you’re anything less than wonderful.”

He couldn’t stop looking at her, attempting to solve the impossible cypher behind her irises. As he failed to decode it, his inability to read her blinded him to what came next. He missed the dilation of her pupils, the way her tongue darted out to wet her lips, the increase of the beats in her carotid. So when she leaned in and pressed her mouth to his, he was momentarily paralyzed.

Her lips were so soft against his slightly chapped ones, pressing with a perfectly gentle pressure. She brought her hand up to cradle his cheek, the pads of her fingers just barely ghosting the curls falling around his ear. She sighed into his mouth and pressed a little closer. He took one peaceful moment to bask in the realization of a desire he’d had for almost four months.

And then she swiped the very tentative tip of her tongue against the seam of his mouth, and his hands involuntarily wound into her hair, dragging her closer. He opened his mouth against hers to swallow her sweet little gasp. His grip on her hair tightened, and she let out the tiniest mewl, and like a switch had flipped— suddenly his mind was full of the darkness she’d spent the evening chasing away.

_Y/N beneath him in the dark. Maeve in a pool of blood. His hands around Cat’s neck. His mother’s slap against his cheek. Max walking away from him. His fingers pressing the plunger on a dirty syringe. The slam of the door behind his father. Y/N calling out his name. A knife at his throat under a canopy of bones. Innumerable sets of lifeless eyes staring up at him. His life being snuffed out on the dirt floor of a shed. The clanging of metal bars and fingers ghosting over old bruises. Y/N looking at him with warm, loving eyes. The violent crack of bone underneath his fists. Y/N’s face, lovely and perfect— and then twisted in pain._

He broke away from her, releasing his hold on her hair and pushing her back into the bench. He took a second to gather himself before he dared to look at her. Her hair was tousled from his rough grip; her eyes were half-lidded and focused on him; her lips were red and kiss-bruised and turned up in a small, sweet smile.

And all at once he knew he had to hurt her, and it had to be now. Because what Cat had said about him was true. He might have escaped his mother’s illness, but he hadn’t been able to outrun the violence— and unlike her, he didn’t have the excuse of being sick. He had hurt people, and he had enjoyed it. He would have killed Hurley, and he would have slept soundly. He was no better than the men his team hunted.

Every time he thought he’d moved past it, that wickedness lurking just under the surface would grab him by the throat, choking everything else out. Emily’s directive rang in his ears. _Find that Reid and bring him back to us._ He knew who she was talking about. The problem was, he wasn’t sure that person still existed.

He was going to hurt Y/N eventually. Better to do it now, before things got too far.

“You’re Michael’s teacher,” he said, as evenly as possible.

Her smile faltered, and she pressed her lips together. He could still feel the phantom press of them against his own, and he was sure he’d never forget it. She cleared her throat. “You’re right, you’re totally right. I, um— I won’t be in a few months, and maybe then—”

“You don’t even know me,” he interrupted.

Now there was confusion in her eyes. That much he could read. She huffed out a small laugh. “I— I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

He looked directly at her. “Why? Because you read my bio on a university website? Because we got tea a couple times?” His voice sounded harsh, patronizing, and he hated it.

Her confusion shifted into shock, and he ignored the tug on his heart. “Are you serious?” she questioned, genuinely searching for a sign that he was joking.

“Dead serious.” He shrugged, and it felt like his bones were breaking. “You don’t really know anything about me, Y/N. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“Where— where is this coming from?” Her voice was small, close to breaking. He lined up the last nail on the lid of the coffin.

“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression. I’ve appreciated talking to you. Volunteering in your classroom was entertaining. But I don’t— I don’t see you that way.” It was a lie, and if he didn’t have such a practiced poker face, she might have seen through it. As it was, his poker face had helped get him banned from every casino in Vegas, so he watched her as he hammered the final nail. “You’re just Michael’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Oh.” The hurt flashed across her features— the furrow of her brow, the tightening of her mouth, the storm clouds in her eyes. “Well, I— I really read this wrong, huh?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah.” He put his hands into his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her, the desire to comfort her a strange juxtaposition to the pain he was intentionally inflicting on her. “I guess so.”

She opened and closed her mouth twice before taking a deep breath and nearly whispering, “Okay. Well. I’m— I’m gonna go.”

She brushed some imaginary dust from her pants and then stood. She turned to him, and he waited for her to explode— to scream and curse at him. But it didn’t come. She didn’t look at him at all. “Um— yeah. I’m gonna go.”

He didn’t say anything, and he knew she’d take his silence as indifference. But he had to keep his mouth shut, because if he didn’t, he’d beg her to stay. He’d tell her every single random piece of information he had stored in his brain. He’d tell her that he loved her from the moment he watched her help a child pick a solution from a pencil box. He’d tell her that he only ever dreamt of two things these days— her or the lives he didn’t save. He’d tell her every single one of his deepest, darkest secrets. He’d tell her that sometimes he was so afraid of himself that he could barely breathe. And if he told her all of that, she’d walk away anyway.

So instead, he watched her turn and start back up the path, hugging her arms around herself and swiping her cheek against her scarf.

When she disappeared over the slope of the path, he scrubbed his hands over his own damp face and let himself break.


	8. Part VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Reader deals with the aftermath of a heartbreak. Penelope and Anita win the awards for respective Best Friends™.
> 
> Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
> 
> Category: more angst, sorry y’all
> 
> Warnings/Includes: alcohol; general like… sadness? reader is a little self loathing for a hot minute but that’s it I think
> 
> a/n: I’m so sorry but you’re actually going to have one more part of angst before the resolution. But as a silver lining, you’re getting an epilogue!

Y/N pulled her scarf up as she weaved between the bodies on the sidewalk, more out of habit than anything else. At first the cold had been painful against her bare skin, but now she was just numb. She felt nothing except the pressure of the ground rising up against the worn soles of her boots.

She was grateful for the subconscious ability to retrace familiar journeys, because she couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to the streets. She dodged the rowdy Thursday night bar crowds, spilling out onto the sidewalk with their cigarettes. She shied away from the blaring of the car horns, amplified to a volume that was nearly painful.

And then she was in front of her door, fumbling hands frozen red with cold and struggling to get the key in the lock. The click of the deadbolt was deafening. She stumbled across the threshold and into her dark apartment, closing the door and standing dumbly in front of it for an indiscriminate amount of time. Roald weaved in between her legs, purring and blissfully unaware of anything gone awry.

She dropped her bag on the ground, and Roald chirped at her. Next came her jacket, unzipped and then shrugged off onto the floor. She unwound her scarf and kicked off her shoes and walked quietly toward her bedroom, shedding the rest of her layers as she went. When every reminder of the day was gone, she pulled back the covers, climbed in underneath, and shut it all off.

…

The alarm was blaring, and for one blissful moment, Y/N was safe from the awareness of the night before. She reached out from under the duvet to tap the snooze button and rolled onto her stomach, face buried in the pillow. And then the moment was gone, and the memory came flooding back.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes; tears of embarrassment and also of the knowledge that she’d built something out of nothing, _again_. She’d read it all wrong and created a fantasy in her head and then _acted_ on it. Spencer hadn’t actually been interested in her beyond her role as Michael’s teacher, and she was ridiculous to think otherwise.

She briefly considered calling out of work, and then she rolled over and scolded herself aloud. “Jesus Christ, get it together. You’re not calling out over a _guy_.”

She rubbed her hands over her face, covering it for a long moment. And then she dragged herself out of bed and got ready for work. By some miracle, it was Friday, and she pulled on a pair of joggers and her favorite soft sweater.

Roald knew something was up, staring at her from his perch on the toilet lid as she brushed her teeth. She spit out the toothpaste and muttered, “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine. I’m good.” He chirped at her, and she swore it sounded sarcastic. “Come on. Let’s get your breakfast.”

She almost resisted the pull of the McDonald’s drive thru on her route to school. Almost. She ended up racing across the school parking lot at 8:31, greasy egg McMuffin and large Coke in hand, fumbling with her badge and swearing under her breath at the cars already pulling into the loop. She waved haphazardly at the vehicles she recognized, grateful not to see a certain blue Volvo.

She waved to a shocked Linda, who looked at the clock in disbelief. “I know, I know,” Y/N said. “Just… one of those mornings.”

Linda considered her with a gaze that was just a little too knowing for Y/N’s liking. “Well, I’ve got a whole bunch of chocolate with your name on it if it turns into one of those _days_.”

Y/N’s eyes burned, but she forced out a laugh. “You’re the absolute best, Linda. An angel on earth. But hey, it’s Friday, and no Friday is a bad Friday.”

…

Some Fridays were, in fact, bad Fridays.

No one would have noticed, of course. Y/N made sure of that. The day dragged on, but thankfully one _Ms. Y/L/N isn’t feeling well— let’s watch a movie_ was enough to occupy the kids for most of the morning. After lunch, they played, and she did some cleaning and organizing. To anyone looking in, it was a normal day. Almost as if her heart hadn’t been shattered into a million pieces the night before.

Dismissal snuck up on her, which meant that they got out to the carpool lane a little later than usual. For once, she didn’t mind, because it meant she didn’t have to stand around for very long. Her kids ran to their waiting vehicles, and she waved them off with as much energy as she could muster. She had never been happier to see Mr. LaMontagne’s dark SUV and friendly wave.

She made her way back inside, grateful for the bustle of faculty by the front desk as she slipped by relatively unnoticed. Once she was safely in her room, she closed the door and finally let out the breath she felt like she’d been holding all day.

She moved to her desk to begin packing up, when she heard the familiar click of heels coming down the hallway. The door opened and Anita drawled, “Heyyyyyy.”

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, and Anita continued, “So, since you didn’t answer my texts last night, _and_ I got here before you today, I’m gonna assume that you’ve got a lot to—” she stopped mid-sentence. “Why is your face like that?”

Y/N resumed her packing. She thought about lying, but she knew Anita would see right through it. “I, um— I kissed him.”

“Oh my god!” Anita closed the rest of the distance between them, practically skipping with excitement. “That’s _good_ news! So why do you look like a kicked puppy?”

“He, um.” She swallowed, _I don’t see you that way_ echoing off the walls of her mind. “He wasn’t interested.”

Anita scoffed. “Well, that’s just— not true. That dude is literally in love w—”

“Stop. Just stop,” Y/N snapped, tired of hearing the insistence of something that she knew to be untrue. “He doesn’t see me that way, Anita. That’s it. End of story. So drop it.” She shouldered her bag and ignored Anita’s shocked face. “I’ll see you Monday.”

…

She changed into pajamas, ordered takeout from her favorite Korean place, and curled up under a blanket on the couch, fully ready to spend the entire weekend there. She and Roald watched _Pretty Woman_ while she pointedly ignored the buzzing of her phone. They made it through the first half of the movie, until the scene in front of the elevator.

_“You hurt me.”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Don’t do it again.”_

The tears were on her cheeks, and as much as she wanted to pretend they were for Vivian, she knew that Julia Roberts got her man in the end. She didn’t make it to the end of the movie, instead just turned off the tv and shuffled to her bedroom.

She crawled into the unmade bed, pulling the soft sheets up around her chin. She traced the fabric between her fingers as she traced over the last four months in her mind— searching through every moment and wondering where she got it wrong.

 _I don’t see you that way. You’re just Michael’s kindergarten teacher._ The words were beating against her skull, bouncing around her mind with the others that lived there permanently: _we want different things, there’s someone else, I don’t love you anymore._

The rain that had been threatening all day finally let loose, a symphony of sound against the window panes, and she let herself break.

…

She woke in the early afternoon on Saturday. Her face was raw and red, her throat burning from the act of holding back tears. Roald was waiting patiently on the pillow next to her, purring softly and looking at her knowingly.

“Sorry, buddy.” She dragged herself out of bed and into the kitchen, dumping a cup of food into his dish and stroking down his back. She opened the fridge to pull out the leftovers from the night before and tossed them in the microwave. She watched the timer as it clicked down closer to nothing, and she felt ridiculous.

She was upset over a man that she’d known for four months. A man that she knew through one of her _students_. They’d never even been on a date— he’d made it very clear that the tea thing didn’t count. She remembered his tone when he’d said it, and she felt so incredibly stupid for ever having thought that it was anything more.

The microwave beeped, and she grabbed the takeout container and set it on the table, realizing she hadn’t looked at her phone since last night. She retrieved it from the coffee table to see a string of messages from Anita, and one missed call from her mom. Deciding she’d deal with her mom later, Y/N swiped the phone open to read Anita’s messages.

**Anita: I’m so sorry  
Anita: He’s trash tbh  
Anita: Forget every nice/thirsty thing I ever said about him because we hate him now  
Anita: He’s ugly and dumb and the worst  
Anita: You are beautiful and brilliant and the best!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
Anita: I love you.**

_Y/N: I love you too. Sorry for snapping at you._

**Anita: YOU’RE ALIVE!!!!!!!!!!!  
Anita: I was getting worried  
Anita: No omg don’t be sorry I was being so annoying  
Anita: Do you wanna get drunk and make out? The kids are at my mom’s and Sam said it’s fine**

_Y/N:_ 🤣 _you’re ridiculous._  
 _Y/N: Thanks for the offer but I think I’m just gonna eat myself into a coma and hang out with Roald._

**Anita: You’re just hanging out with your cat? God that’s sad**

_Y/N: So rude!!!!!!!!!_

**Anita: Sorry. It’s totally not sad to hang out with your cat. Tell him I said hi.  
Anita: #SpencerSucks  
Anita: I’m gonna see if I can get that trending on twitter**

_Y/N: Please don’t._

**Anita: #SpencerReidSucks how about that?**

_Y/N: There are so many other, better things to do with your long weekend. Go hang out with your gorgeous wife!_

**Anita: Ugh I guess I’ll hang out (and make out, since you won’t) with her  
Anita: But I’m just gonna worry about you the whole time**

_Y/N: I’m fine. Seriously.  
Y/N: But thank you._

**Anita: I got you, boo ♥️  
Anita: #SpencerReidSucksAss**

…

Y/N ate her weight in chips and chocolate and hung out with Roald, watching the latest true crime documentary series on Netflix. And she had a glass of wine. And then she had another. And… another. And before she realized, the second bottle was gone, and she was sitting in front of her computer.

**Y/N Y/L/N  
Re: #SpencerReidSuckSAss**

**I know you doNt have twitter because your “not good with technology” but if u had one that woul d be the trending topic on your page**

**You’re an asshole**

**allow me to elabo rate. YOU invited ME to tea i**

**didn’t start that you did. YOu came to school all the time I work theRE?? AND i only invited u to be a guest reader bc michael asked. YOU asked to volunteer an YOU came to the parade wiTH Youstupid BFG costume lik ean ASSHole. And YOU touched MY face with ur stupid magic trick and YOU sent me a christmas gift that you fuckin hanD DREW?**

**if I’m JUSYT michael’s kindergarten teacher then how come youn made out with me on a fuckin park bench?????????????? like yea i kissed u but u kissed me back too**

**no**

**you are a fucking asshole and i HATE you**

…

She woke with a start on the couch, neck positioned at the absolute worst angle and nausea coursing through her. The light streaming in from the window was much too bright. She barely made it to the bathroom before emptying the contents of her stomach into the toilet.

She brushed her teeth, downed two Advil for her aching head, and headed out into the kitchen in search of something greasy. She heard the buzz of her phone on her desk and picked it up on her way by.

**Anita: So did you send it?  
Anita: I would have sent it, but I kind of figured you’d chicken out  
Anita: Also, how ya feeling today, champ????? Do you need snacks?**

_Y/N: Ouch. <— That’s how I’m feeling.  
Y/N: Send what?_

**Anita: …  
Anita: Ohhhhhhhhhh boy**

_Y/N: … what?_

**Anita: Check your email.**

Her heart was already hammering as she practically ran to her desk, tapping furiously on the trackpad to wake up her laptop. She entered her password incorrectly twice before she was finally signed in. She frantically pulled up her browser to see her email account already open, the message staring back at her.

“Oh my fucking god.” She dropped into her desk chair, eyes wide as she read over the half-coherent rant. None of it was particularly… incorrect, but she was mortified nonetheless. Her eyes fell on the blue _send_ button, and she let out an utterly tranquilized sigh when she realized that she had _not_ , in fact, sent Spencer Reid an embarrassing hate email.

She ran a hand through her hair and let out a shaky breath, staring at her words— her anger, her grief— spilling across the screen. It was a country mile away from how she’d felt a week ago; the knowledge that she had been _in love_ with this man was a cruel dagger— stabbing and twisting and drawing blood from a heart that was already so scarred she’d been sure there was nothing left to give.

She clicked the little trash icon to delete the draft, and then her eyes fell on his email from Thursday afternoon. She hovered over it for a long second. Then, she clicked on the message, found the options menu under the three dots, and clicked the option to _Block Spencer Reid_.

…

The next two weeks passed without incident. The pendulum of Y/N’s heartache still swung between anger and grief, but she kept herself in check and avoided the alcohol in her apartment. Her students were none the wiser; even Michael, who was his same wonderful, chatterbox self. It was strangely comforting to focus on the way their relationship was unchanged.

Mr. LaMontagne had been almost exclusively picking the boys up from school, always with a friendly wave from the car. So she was surprised on that second Friday to see Mrs. Jareau walking across the parking lot.

She waved as she approached, and Y/N returned the wave with a polite smile. Michael ran to her and she bent to give him a hug as Henry approached from the other side. She spoke briefly to Henry, and then both boys made their way to the car. Mrs. Jareau approached, and Y/N wasn’t sure what to expect.

Y/N kept her smile in place. “Hi, Mrs. Jareau.”

She waved her hand. “Oh, please— Jennifer.”

Y/N nodded. “Jennifer. What can I do for you?”

Jennifer pursed her lips for a moment and then blew out a small sigh. “I just wanted to say thank you. For being so good to Michael.” At Y/N’s raised eyebrow, she continued, “I don’t know what happened. I don’t want you to think I’m— gossiping with Spence or anything. But I just… I know him, and so I know something happened. And you could have made things tense with Michael, but he still loves you and your class so much, and I—”

“Jennifer.” Y/N smiled kindly at her. “Michael’s a kid. He’s a good kid. He’s my student. Whatever happened or didn’t happen with Spencer and I is irrelevant.” She cleared her throat. “And anyway, I’m pretty good at compartmentalizing. So— you don’t need to worry.”

Jennifer nodded. “I can appreciate that.” She shifted her weight slightly and then met Y/N’s eyes. “Spence, he’s— he’s been through a lot. That’s not an excuse, at all. But a sort of explanation, I guess.” She folded her arms and furrowed her brow. “I’ve known him for a long time, and… he’s good. He’s a good uncle, agent, and friend. He’s a good man. He just doesn’t always believe it.”

Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. She would have agreed wholeheartedly a few weeks ago, but all she could think about now was the condescension in his voice as he told her she was nothing to him. “Thank you for the information.”

“Of course.” Jennifer took a deep breath in. “Have a great weekend.”

“You, too.” Y/N watched her retreating form, weighing the decision before deciding to speak up for herself for once. “Mrs. Jareau?” Jennifer turned back to her. “I’d prefer that only you or your husband pick Michael up from now on.”

…

The knock on his door startled Spencer out of the relative trance he’d been in, watching the drops of rain travel down the windowpane.

Another knock rang out and he padded quietly to the door, looking through the peephole to see a brightly colored Penelope staring back at him. He would have sighed, but she’d hear him, and then he’d have to open the door. So instead, he held his breath and wished she’d go away.

“Hey. 187. I know you’re in there. I tracked your phone.”

He let his head fall forward in a _thunk_ against the door. “Penny, that’s not even legal.”

“ _Please_ ,” she scoffed. “The government does a lot worse on a daily basis. I should know. Now, are you going to let me in or do I have to do more illegal things to let myself in?”

He did sigh then, but he opened the door anyway. She looked at him with a frown. “Oof. You look terrible.”

“Gee, thanks.” She brushed past him, and he closed the door behind her.

“That’s what you get for leaving me on read for two weeks.” She immediately settled into the space, dropping her giant bag on his cluttered desk and turning to stare at him. “What gives?”

“Nothing,” he lied. “I’ve just been… busy.”

“Bullshit. Your lecture doesn’t start for another two weeks, and you’re not doing any consults.” She raised an eyebrow. “You’re ignoring me, and I don’t like it.”

He blew out a breath. “I’m not ignoring you.” She put her hands on her hips and he relented. “Okay, so I’m sort of ignoring you, but it’s not— I’m ignoring everybody. I don’t really feel like talking right now.”

“Well, tough titties, Boy Wonder.” She moved into the kitchen, lifted the kettle from the stove and began filling it with water. He followed her, hands in his pockets. “We’re going to drink some tea, and then you’re going to spill it.”

He sighed, resigned to his fate. “How much do you already know?”

She hummed as she turned on the burner to heat the water. “Luke told me about the… incident. And the talk with Emily. But that’s it.” She turned back to look at him, concern and empathy etched across her features. “And don’t get me wrong, that’s a lot, and my heart continues to hurt for the way that life just _will not_ give you a break. But this feels…” She gestured at him—greasy hair, permanent pajamas, under eyes so sunken that he looked like an actual skeleton. “This feels like more than just bad guy stuff.”

The way her eyes flashed, he knew exactly what she was remembering. The seven baskets she left outside his door, the _knock twice if you’re conscious_ , the weeks of worrying. And Y/N wasn’t dead, but with the way she’d looked when he broke her heart, he may as well have driven a knife through her chest.

“I— I might have, um. Met someone.”

Penelope gasped. “The teacher, right? Michael’s teacher?” The way her face dropped was almost comical. “No. Oh no. Spencer. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.” It was only sort of a lie.

Penelope leveled him a look. “Well then what did you say? What did you _not_ do or say?”

“Why do you assume that I’m the one who did or said something wrong?” he whined.

“Because you’re the absolute king of self-deprecation and self-sabotage. Seriously I should get you a crown.” Her eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me _she_ did or said something to make you feel like this? Because if that’s the case, then I will find her and I will—”

“No— no. She didn’t,” he asserted quickly. “She didn’t do anything wrong. She, um. She kissed me.” Penelope clapped her hands together excitedly. “And I told her I wasn’t interested.”

Her face fell again, and she really did look like a cartoon character sometimes for how dramatic her expressions could be. “Oh my god, _Spencer_. What did I tell you? The _king_ of self-sabotage. Why on earth would you do that? Are you actually not interested?”

“No, I’m—” He sighed. He’d told her this much, so he might as well go all the way. “I think I’m in love with her, actually.”

“You don’t tell the person you’re _in love_ with that you’re not interested, genius!” She gestured wildly with her hands. “I know you don’t have a ton of experience in the romance department, but that’s a pretty universal understanding.”

“Pen— I’m. Something’s wrong with me.” She started to argue, and he continued, “I’m serious. I’m past the age for the schizophrenia diagnosis, but I— the thing with that unsub? Hurley? I would have killed him. Matt had to drag me off of him.” He furrowed his brow and frowned. “I would have killed him, and I wouldn’t have felt bad. Maybe it started when I was in prison, but I can’t— it won’t go away. And I’m afraid that I’m— that that’s who I am now. That I’m… that I’m not a good person anymore.”

“Spencer Reid, you stop that right now. What are you talking about?” She wrapped him in a hug, and he hooked his chin over her shoulder, tears suddenly spilling over his lashes. “You’re one of the best people I know. You _are_ a good person. You are.”

He wept silently into her hair, breathing in her fruity shampoo and focusing on the feel of her hands on his back. He hadn’t allowed himself to cry since that night on the park bench sixteen days ago. But now that it was out there in the open— the fear living and breathing in the real world instead of just in his mind— he couldn’t stop the flood.

Penelope repeated it again: _You’re a good person, Spencer._ It was easy to believe her in the daylight when he was weeks removed from the last appearance of this wicked alter ego that he couldn’t quite shake. But when the sun went down, and it was just him and his mind, he wasn’t so sure.

She hugged him so tight that it almost hurt. “Spencer, I need you to listen to me. Really listen.” He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded against her shoulder. “There is _nothing_ wrong with you. You’ve been through so much, and trauma like that messes with our brains. But you are so much more than the things that have happened to you. You’re so much more than whatever you think your worst parts are.”

He sniffled, and she squeezed him again. “You’ve been through all of that, and you’re still using your incredible mind to save lives. And doing magic tricks for your godsons. And adopting a fish because your best friend called you crying about animal abuse in mall pet stores.”

He laughed wetly, and she rocked him a little back and forth. Penelope was good at that— at just _being_ there with him when he didn’t quite know how to exist by himself. He was reminded, not for the first time, that life was just not the same without the light of Penelope Garcia shining on him every day. “I miss you,” he whispered.

She pulled out of the hug, and her eyes were wet, too. “Well, text me back once in a while and you wouldn’t have to.”

He swiped his fingers underneath his eyes, still sniffling a little. “I’m getting better with the texting,” he defended. “I even do some email now.”

Penelope barked out a laugh. “Sure you do. Who’s emailing you, Dr. Reid? Your students don’t count.”

“I was emailing with Y/N before I— well, before I messed things up.”

“Oh my god, let me see!” she gasped. He started to protest, but then the tea kettle was whistling, and she was standing firm. “If I’m going to help you fix this, then I need to know everything.”


	9. Part IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Spencer tries to make things right.
> 
> Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
> 
> Category: angst, whoops soz (but the next/last part is hurt/comfort!!!!)
> 
> Warnings/Includes: alcohol, self-deprecation, mentions of drug addiction, prison, there will be tears
> 
> a/n: So. I cried three times while writing this. @reidscanehand hand cried while beta’ing. So. There’s that. 
> 
> Song Recs: How to Be Yours by Chris Renzema; scared by Jeremy Zucker; Heal by Tom Odell

_Penelope: Sooooo, how’s Operation Honey Love going?????_ 😉🥰

**Spencer: Not good.**

_Penelope: What????? Why??????  
Penelope: Did you send the email????_

**Spencer: Yes. She didn’t respond.  
Spencer: I can’t blame her. I wouldn’t respond either.**

_Penelope: Okay, well send another email_

**Spencer: I did. I sent three, actually.**

_Penelope: Oh_

**Spencer: Yeah. It’s okay.**

_Penelope: NO hang on  
Penelope: I’m thinking  
Penelope: What if you sent her another gift?_

**Spencer: What would I even send? Flowers? Chocolates? A card that says “Sorry for saying you don’t mean anything to me. I’m an idiot and a liar.”?**

_Penelope: Yeah, actually, you should try all three_

**Spencer: That was supposed to be a joke. I’m not doing that!**

_Penelope: Well we’re not giving up. Miss Honey is your soulmate!!!!!!_

**Spencer: I don’t know, Pen.**

_Penelope: Do you need a reminder?  
_ ♥️ _Spencer Reid’s Soulmate Checklist_ ♥️  
✅ _converse_ 👟  
✅ _cute, dorky sweaters_  
✅ _ridiculously kind_  
✅ _likes magic tricks_ 🪄  
✅ _great with kids_  
✅ _listens to (and likes!) Reid Rambles™_  
✅ _is huggable_ 🧸  
✅ _excellent gift giver_  
✅ _welcomes vulnerability and provides support_ ‼️  
✅ _good kisser_ 👀  
✅ _godson approved_

**Spencer: ....so, what do I do now?**

…

“You, me, and a bottle of tequila.” Anita plopped herself down on the edge of the table and raised her eyebrows.

Y/N looked up from her desk, clipping together the copies for next week. “The last time I drank tequila with you I woke up underneath my coffee table.”

Anita cackled. “ _God_ , I almost forgot about that.” She watched Y/N organizing the papers, tilting her head. “Come on. You need a night out. Sam can come with, make sure we don’t get too out of hand.”

“What about the kids?” Y/N put the stacks of copies into the slots on her weekly organizer.

“They’re with my parents.”

Y/N turned and leaned back in her chair. “I’m really tired. It’s been—”

“It’s been a month,” Anita said, voice softer than Y/N had ever heard it. “And I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do. But I just— I hate seeing you look so damn sad.”

Y/N sighed. She thought she’d been hiding it well, but apparently not. “I’m okay, really.” At Anita’s pursed lips, she continued, “I’m a little sad, but I’m not like, eating tubs of ice cream and crying in the shower or anything.”

“All the more reason to go out!” Anita pulled her best pout. “Please.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the grin gave her away. “Fine. But Sam’s driving.”

“Obviously,” Anita scoffed. “How else are you gonna end up under the coffee table?”

…

They dropped off Y/N’s car, picked Sam up, and drove to their favorite Tenleytown spot for margaritas. Y/N sat across the table from two of her favorite people, refilling her glass from the pitcher. She was starting to feel the delightful buzz of the alcohol, her mind just slightly fuzzy.

Anita was right, of course. She needed a night out. She’d been spending most weekends on the couch, eating snacks and half-watching Netflix in her pajamas. She hadn’t drank since The Email Incident™, afraid she’d actually follow through if she let herself get that far.

And so the three of them gossiped and laughed over fajitas and enchiladas. By the end of the meal, they were on their third pitcher of margaritas. Sam, as designated driver, had stopped after just two glasses, switching to water about halfway through the meal. Consequently, Y/N and Anita were both three sheets to the wind.

The waiter returned to clear their plates, and Y/N excused herself to the bathroom. In the bathroom, she realized just how drunk she was— the music felt louder, the lights brighter, the world a little more overwhelming. After she washed her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror, analyzing and scrutinizing every bit.

_I don’t see you that way._

_Why not?_ she wondered. Was it the angle of her nose? The bulge of her tummy? Her annoying habit of talking about work? Her tendency to overshare?

_There’s someone else._

Had she not been enough? Had she been too much? Could she have fixed things, or was she always meant to be here— 30 years old, just a kindergarten teacher with a cat at home— in this bar alone?

She shook her head, and the act had her swaying, clutching the countertop. She _wasn’t_ alone. She had Anita, and she had Sam, and she had her kids and her family. She wasn’t too much. And she _was_ enough. She was. Maybe if she repeated it enough, she’d actually start to believe it.

She cleaned up the mascara that had smudged underneath her eyes, evidence of her intoxication and the few tears that had managed to escape. And then she headed back out to their table.

Anita and Sam were cuddled close together, sharing a simple affection that Y/N almost couldn’t remember— the act of holding someone’s hand, of kissing their cheek, of resting her head on their shoulder. She couldn’t stop the tears from welling up again, cursing the tequila in her bloodstream for destroying her emotional control.

She sat quietly, desperately hoping she could compose herself before either of her companions noticed. Of course she would have no such luck.

“Why are you crying?” Anita asked, slightly slurred. She rose from her place next to Sam, coming around the table and plopping herself in the chair next to Y/N. “No, no, no, this was supposed to be fun, not sad.”

Y/N shook her head. “It is fun. I’m having fun. I’m fine. Just— you know how I get.”

Anita reached across the table for Sam’s glass of water, pushing it into Y/N’s hands. “Drink. We gotta flush out the bad drunk and get you back to the good drunk.”

Y/N took a sip of the water, and then carefully set the glass on the table. “It’s just like— what’s wrong with me, you know?”

Anita looked at Sam. “Go get more water.”

Sam gave her a nod and made her way to the bar. Anita pulled Y/N’s face up to look at her. “Look at me. Listen. There is _nothing_ wrong with you. Do you understand me? Nothing.”

Y/N could feel the tears flowing now, and she couldn’t stop them. They spilled out of her like the words spilled out of her mouth. “I just— Spencer is one thing, but Owen—”

“Owen is a human piece of garbage with a small dick that didn’t make you come _one time_ in the five years you spent with his dumb ass.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, and Anita continued, “He also made you feel like shit about your job, about your body, about your family, about anything and everything that made you happy. Dude was fucking trash, and frankly, the only decent thing he did was break up with you.”

“But if someone so shitty didn’t even want me, what made me think that someone so wonderful would?”

Her voice was quiet, but the thought was _so loud_ in her mind. She’d spent the better part of the month trying to crush it, but like a mosquito in the swamp, it buzzed in her ears incessantly.

She knew— of course she knew— that she was better off without Owen, without her high school boyfriend, without any of the dozens of one-offs she’d had in the past few years. But the pattern of men tiring of her, casting her aside when they found something better… it was unavoidable. They all did it eventually, and the common denominator was her. She wasn’t desirable as a partner. Spencer had just confirmed what she already knew.

Anita didn’t say anything, just wrapped her in a hug. They swayed in the wooden restaurant chairs, Anita’s arms tight around her. She wept quietly; there was no need for dramatics. The idea was already so deeply hooked into her psyche that she was nearly resigned to it anyway.

Sam returned quietly with the water, sitting across from them with a furrowed brow. “The fact that a man with such dry ass curls had the audacity to make you feel this shitty is just unbelievable, honestly.”

“Somebody get that fucker some conditioner and a wide tooth comb,” Anita agreed.

Y/N let out a watery laugh at that. She pulled out of the hug and swiped under her eyes. “God— they are dry, aren’t they?”

“The fuckin’ Arizona desert has more moisture.” Anita smoothed Y/N’s hair back. “You wanna go home?”

…

They pulled up to the curb in front of Y/N’s apartment, and Sam shut the car off. They all hoisted themselves out of the vehicle, coming around to the sidewalk to hug and say goodnight.

“Sorry for getting all weepy,” Y/N murmured into Anita’s shoulder.

“Don’t apologize. All of your emotions are valid, I see you, crying releases bad juju, yada yada.” Anita pulled out of the hug and waved her hand. “Dude still sucks, so try not to waste too many more tears on him.”

“Hey, um— speaking of,” Sam muttered, “… is that…?”

Sam’s eyes were fixed on something above Y/N’s shoulder. Before she could turn to see the something in question, Anita practically growled, “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me. Hey! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sam quickly wrapped an arm around Anita’s waist, literally holding her in place as she flailed about wildly. “ _Easy_ , killer.”

“I will not take it easy!” Anita shrieked. Y/N turned to see Spencer standing underneath the glow of the entryway light of her apartment door, and she immediately whipped back around to avoid his eyes.

Anita wasn’t nearly done, squirming in Sam’s grip, the tequila only serving to amplify her anger. “How _dare_ you? You think just because you’ve got a pretty face you can treat people like garbage? Fuck you! I’m gonna absolutely _wreck_ that ridiculous jawline! I will _end you_ , motherfucker!”

“ _Ohhhkay_ ,” Sam sang, clapping a gentle hand over her wife’s screeching mouth. “Maybe let’s not threaten bodily harm to a federal agent? That seems like something we probably shouldn’t do.”

She pulled Anita’s struggling body toward the car. She called out a sheepish, “Sorry!” Then she furrowed her brow as she packed Anita into the car. “Well, not really sorry, because you’re the worst. But you know— _legally_ , we’re very sorry!”

Y/N closed her eyes and willed the buzz of the alcohol away. Sam closed the car door on a still screeching Anita, and then turned back to Y/N. “Hey. You okay? You want me to walk you in?”

Y/N shook her head. “No, no, I’m— I’m fine.”

Sam’s eyes softened. “You’re sure?” Y/N nodded. Sam gestured vaguely to Anita’s muffled screams. “Sorry about that. She just loves you. We both do.”

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes. “I know. I love you guys, too.”

“I’m gonna expect a text letting me know you got inside safely.” She jerked her thumb toward the car. “That one’ll probably be passed out, but— just let us know you’re all right.”

“Will do.”

Sam held up her middle finger in Spencer’s direction, and then she moved around the hood of the car and climbed into the driver’s side. The vehicle hesitated a second before Y/N waved them off. They pulled away from the curb, and she took a deep breath to steel herself before heading up the sidewalk.

The walk to the doorway felt a mile long. Y/N wrapped her arms around her waist, protecting herself from the cold and from the man in front of her. Spencer stood quietly, illuminated by the glow of the light, beautiful as ever. She hated the way her heart fluttered in her chest at the sight of him.

He rocked back on his heels a little when she finally reached the door. They were both quiet for a long moment, and then he gestured with his hand toward the street. “I deserved that.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Did you guys, um— have fun?”

She couldn’t stop her eyebrows from shooting up almost clear off her face. “You do not have the clearance to ask that question.”

He pressed his lips together, pain evident in the crease of his brow. “I know.”

She was furious that he had the audacity to look hurt. He had no right. “Okay, well if you don’t have anything else to say, I’m gonna go inside and go to bed.”

“I emailed you. A few times.”

“Yeah, well, I blocked you. So. Didn’t get them.”

As she went to move past him, he reached out to grab her arm— not enough to hurt, but enough to halt her movement. She scoffed. “Oh, so this is what we’re doing? Physical intimidation?”

Spencer dropped his hand like he’d been burned, taking a step back. “No, no, it’s not— it’s not like that. I would never hurt you. I—”

“Really? Because I’m pretty sure that ship has sailed,” she spat. He grimaced at her tone, which only made her more enraged. “What did you think was going to happen here? You were gonna show up at my apartment and— _what_ exactly?”

He shook his head. “I don’t— I don’t know.”

“Well, great— that makes two of us. I guess you were right that I don’t know you. At all.” She turned to fully face him, and she allowed her anger to augment her stature until she felt him cowering. “But you don’t know me either. You see this one, tiny piece of me that is rated G and palatable to my kids, and you make me into this stupid, simple little woman who couldn’t possibly understand you and your grand mind.” She gestured wildly around her head. “You’re just like every other man who thinks that I’m a vapid idiot just because I teach the ABCs.”

His eyes went wide, and he moved closer to her now, reaching a hand out. “No— _no_. It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it like, Spencer?!” She shrugged away from his outstretched hand. She felt insane, practically screaming now, but she couldn’t bring herself to be embarrassed. She’d had a whole month to ruminate over the moment her heart had been shattered on a park bench, and she wasn’t going to hold back now. “ _Please_ explain it to me. Because like you so eloquently put it, I don’t know you! I don’t know anything about you. So why don’t you use that fucking ridiculous IQ and explain it to me, since I’m apparently too stupid to figure it out.”

“I don’t— I don’t think you’re stupid. I’m—” She could hear the tears in his voice, see the way he squeezed his eyes shut and dug his nails into his palms. “I’m sorry that I ever made you think that, even for one second.”

The green and gold she loved so much were drowning when they finally met hers, and her chest tightened painfully. He shook his head, but he didn’t drop his gaze. “I’m so, so sorry. Because I don’t think you’re stupid, at all. I think you’re brilliant. You always ask me to teach you something, but I— I’ve learned _so_ much more from you. I watched you take enormous concepts like empathy and emotional regulation and make them accessible for five year olds. That— that’s brilliance.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, a shield of armor waiting for the next blow. His words might have been a salve if he hadn’t been the one to burn her in the first place.

He looked at his hands for a moment, and then back up at her. “You’re the teacher that every kid should have— that I wish I’d had. Because you’re loving and caring and just— so _good_. You make everyone around you feel good, just by being you, and I— I needed that when I was a kid. I still need that.”

There was still a crease in his brow, and he tapped his fingers on his thighs. “You’re a wonderful teacher, and I love that about you. But that’s not why I’m— I don’t— that’s an important piece of who you are, but it’s not all that you are.”

His eyes tracked over her face, and she couldn’t figure him out. “You’re also funny and kind. You listen— I mean, you _really_ listen, and remember, and care. You never make me feel strange or like I have to change who I am. I’ve never— I’ve never felt more like myself than I do when I’m with you.”

She couldn’t reconcile these words with the ones from that night in the park. She could feel the tears brimming at the surface, threatening to give him another piece of her that she didn’t want him to have. “I don’t understand. You— you said you didn’t want me.”

Spencer choked out a thick, humorless laugh, and she watched a tear spill over and track down his cheek. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I’m the king of self-sabotage,” he murmured. “I— I do want you. So much. I just— I was pretty sure you wouldn’t want me.”

She furrowed her brow, reeling from this new knowledge. Her brain couldn’t process the feelings coursing through her— confusion, hurt, hope, disbelief. He wanted her. And she couldn’t think of a single thing that would have kept her from wanting him.

Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. “When I said that you didn’t know me, that was a lie. You— you know me so well that it scares me. So well that I knew I couldn’t— keep you out of the places I don’t want you to see.” He closed his eyes. “You know me, but you only saw the best version of me. And there’s a much worse version.”

She tried desperately to keep up. “What?”

He struggled to meet her eyes. “I’m a former drug addict, and sometimes I still think about using. I spent three months in federal prison— wrongly accused, but I still put myself in a position to be there. I— I’ve hurt people. I’ve done things and been places that make me feel like I’ll never be clean, or whole, or right— ever again. Like any goodness I had in me is gone.”

It took every piece of her dignity not to reach out to him then. This wonderful, kind, gentle man. This man who had built her up, made her laugh, held her hand when she was lost in grief, and showed her a kind of magic well beyond the flick of a playing card. The knowledge that he felt this way about himself broke her heart again— a compound fracture beneath the already painful scar tissue.

“I know I don’t deserve to, but I’m— I’m asking you to… forgive the things I’ve done.” He was crying now, silent tears that she was drowning in. “Because being with you is the closest I’ve felt to clean, to whole, to right— in a long time.”

The last part came out in a whisper, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment. Her fingers itched with the desire to wipe away his tears, to hold his hand, to tell him that everything would be all right. But he had _hurt_ her, and this confession proved that he’d done it on purpose, even if his words had been a lie. She hugged herself a little tighter, bit the inside of her cheek, and felt the tears she’d been fighting slip over her lower lash line.

She watched him open his eyes, watched him stare at his hands. He looked up to see her watching him, saw the tears on her cheeks, and he struggled to look at her. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and she couldn’t help but remember the phantom press of them against her own, wondered if she’d ever forget it. “I—” he started and then paused.

He took a deep breath, and the tips of his fingers tapped a rhythm against his thumbs for five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds. He raised his eyes to hers once again, still green and gold and now full of emotions she couldn’t quite place. And the next words out of his mouth stole all the oxygen from her lungs, from the courtyard, from the entire city of DC.

“I love you.” His eyes widened just a bit, like he was stunned by his own words. He let out a shaky breath and shook his head slightly, almost apologetic. “That’s probably not fair to say to you right now,” he admitted. “But it’s the truth. And I just… I think you deserve that much.”

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She was frozen in time, staring at Spencer Reid in the yellow glow of the doorway, waiting to wake up from what was surely a dream… a sad concoction of her subconscious. A fictional, alternate ending that her mind had created for this painful story.

Spencer cleared his throat. “And that’s, um— that’s it.”

She was pretty sure her mind would have designed a more creative end to this monologue. Somehow that one sentence was so definitively Spencer that she almost laughed. She stared at him for a solid thirty seconds, and he began to squirm a little under her gaze.

She couldn’t settle her heart rate, couldn’t organize her thoughts. She’d spent a month convincing herself to move on, and now he was standing in front of her, opening the door again. He was waiting for her to respond, but she couldn’t formulate the necessary sentences.

“I don’t—” Her voice cracked, and she brought a hand up to wipe at her cold, damp cheeks. “I don’t have anything to say right now. I need some time. To process.”

He nodded eagerly, whispered out, “Okay.”

She held his gaze and made sure not to falter. “And when I’m done processing, I still might not have anything to say.”

He nodded again. “Okay.”

She pressed her lips together. “So, you know. Don’t feel like you need to wait on me.”

His mouth twitched a little nervously, but he didn’t look away. “This probably isn’t fair either, but I’m— I’m pretty sure I’d wait forever.”

It was a simple phrase, only six words. But it felt a little bit like a promise. It felt a little like a balm. She could breathe again, and the air felt a little like hope.

“Goodnight, Spencer.”


	10. Part X

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: A happy ending for two people who deserve it.
> 
> Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
> 
> Category: hurt/comfort
> 
> Warnings/Includes: none
> 
> a/n: The hurt is over, my loves. Thank you for being patient and supportive during my little breakdown. This is the last chapter of the main series!!!!! The epilogue will be coming shortly, and then we’ll start a series of one-shots. I’ll be filling some requests that I have in my box, as well as some original verse ideas that have been floating around in my noggin for a while. Feel free to send me the requests for the scenes you wish you’d seen in the main or ones you want to see in their future! 
> 
> Song Recs: Goodnight by Lennon Stella; Godspeed by James Blake; I Like to Be With Me When I’m With You by Drew Holcomb & The Neighbors

That night in Mitchell Park had stolen the air from his lungs, and he hadn’t been able to properly take a breath in the month that followed. He’d spent a month with an anvil on his chest, pressing down on his heart and crushing the joy that Y/N had built up over the five months since he’d met her. And then he’d gotten a Penelope pep talk and spent a few sleepless nights going over all the things he needed to say.

On the walk back to his apartment, his lungs, his mind, and his heart were filled with her _goodnight_.

_Goodnight, Spencer_. She had said goodnight, not goodbye. She had listened to his whole speech. When he told her he loved her, she had uncrossed her arms— an unconscious showing of faith, of the very beginnings of trust.

It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was an olive branch. It was a door left slightly ajar. And he was willing to wait outside until she was ready to let him back in. He was ready to spend the rest of his life making up for that moment on the bench. For the month he’d spent wallowing in his own self-loathing. For one of the worst mistakes of his life.

He was willing to wait. He was hopeful.

And then 24 hours passed. Then 48. Then three days. Then a week.

His course started eight days after _goodnight, Spencer_. He was teaching an accelerated course— three weeks of daily lectures— and he had never been more grateful for the distraction. Between preparing for each class, grading student work, office hours, and commuting, he was lucky to have more than a few hours a day to himself.

He checked his email more frequently than ever before, although he could pass it off as being available and responsive to his students. He had no way of knowing if Y/N still had him blocked. He re-read her emails from before his transgression. He re-read her inscription in the book that had become his most prized possession. And he waited.

…

_Penelope: Anything?_

**Spencer: No.**

_Penelope: I’m so sorry, Spencer._

…

Y/N pulled up the contact on her phone, letting out a small sigh before hitting the dial button. It rang twice before Jenny picked up.

“Hey, you! What’s goin’ on?”

Y/N smiled at the North Carolina drawl. “Hey. Nothing.”

Jenny paused. “That sure as hell don’t sound like nothin’. I’ma FaceTime you, and you better pick up.”

The call went dead, and Y/N ran a hand over her face. The phone buzzed with the incoming video call. She hesitated for a long moment before clicking to accept the call.

Jenny’s face popped up immediately. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N let out a breath. “It’s nothing seri—”

“Don't even try to lie.” Jenny raised her eyebrows. “I’m your sister. I know when you’re lyin’.”

“Is it a boy?” Travis popped his head in the frame behind Jenny. “‘Cause if it’s a boy, you know I’ll come up there and beat his ass.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the laugh as she watched Jenny push him out of frame. “Get outta here. She don’t want you snoopin’ in her business.”

“I’m just sayin’. Lee and I can make good time if we start up there now,” Travis called.

Jenny rolled her eyes, then looked back to Y/N, lowering her voice. “All right, but is it about a boy?”

“Sort of,” Y/N confirmed.

“Do we like him or not?”

Y/N sighed. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

“Did you make a pros and cons list yet?” At Y/N’s pointed look, Jenny continued, “Well, I need to know the pros and cons if I’m gonna make an informed decision! Start from the beginning. Wait, hang on— Trav, bring me a pen!”

Y/N recounted the last five months, from that very first meeting in September, all the way through the speech on her doorstep nearly four weeks ago.

“And now I don’t know what to do,” Y/N admitted.

Jenny finished jotting a final note on her notepad. “Well, I can tell you the pros list is a lot longer than the cons.”

“But the cons are _serious_ , Jenny.” Y/N huffed out a breath and dropped herself back against the couch cushions.

“Pros,” Jenny started. “Hot, curly hair, tall, smart, nice, humble, good style, great with kids, not bored by your soapboxin’, thoughtful gift givin’, excellent kisser, willin’ to admit when he’s wrong.” She ran her finger down the notepad. “Cons: went to prison— but there’s an asterisk there because, well— that could be kind of hot dependin’ on the details. The only other con is that he was a one-time asshole.”

Y/N propped her arm on the back of the couch and laid her cheek down. “He was _really_ an asshole, though.”

“I know. And I’m sure it felt extra awful because of the bullshit with Owen.” Jenny’s eyes softened. “Did you talk about it with your therapist?”

“No, she had to reschedule my appointment,” Y/N sighed. “But yeah, it sort of— I guess it opened an old wound.”

“The boys really should’ve beat the shit outta him at Chrissy’s wedding.” Jenny set the notebook aside and pursed her lips. “Owen was a cruel, selfish, connivin’ prick who didn’t deserve you. I hate that he got so deep in your head, because everything he taught you was a lie.”

Y/N swiped at the tears that managed to slip over her lashes. “I know that’s true. But sometimes it’s hard to remember.”

“You’re the best person I know. And I’m not just sayin’ that ‘cause I’m your sister.” Jenny dabbed underneath her own eyes, sniffling a little. “And you deserve somebody who’s gonna treat you right. So if you think Spencer ain’t gon’ treat you right, then fuck him.”

Y/N sniffed, and Jenny continued, “But I’ma tell you this. Me and Travis have been together a long time, right. Gettin’ an apology out of that man? It’s like a unicorn: a rare and endangered species.”

Y/N laughed. “Unicorns aren’t _endangered_ ; they’re fictional.”

“Exactly.” Jenny grinned. “Look, the point is: sayin’ you’re sorry is hard. Especially for men. Blame the patriarchy or whatever, but shit’s true. And a genuine apology? Forget it.”

Y/N dropped her chin into her hand. “So, you’re saying I should forgive him.”

“I’m not gon’ tell you what to do.” Jenny looked over the notebook. “I’m just saying— from what I can tell— it sounds like Spencer was about one boombox away from bein’ your own personal John Cusack. That’s not somethin’ you see everyday.”

...

She pulled up her email account, clicking through to her settings. She pulled up the tab for _Blocked Accounts_ , staring at the lone email address. She chewed the inside of her lip, considering. And then she clicked the option to remove Spencer Reid from the block list.

When she refreshed her email account, there were three unread emails.

—

**Spencer Reid Re: I’m sorry**

**Y/N,**

**I know that this email is about three weeks too late, and I’m so sorry for that. You deserved an explanation before now. You deserved better in the first place.**

**I’ve never been good at saying how I feel. It’s a maddening character flaw, if I’m being honest. I can explain almost anything, with the exception of my own emotions.**

**What I said to you on that bench was a lie. I do see you that way. I’ve seen you that way for a long time. I’m sorry that I lied to you. It was cowardly and cruel. The only explanation that I can offer is that it was my convoluted way of protecting you. I’m sure that doesn’t make sense, but I can’t even begin to clarify it in an email.**

**I completely understand if you never want to see me again. But if you’re willing, I would love the opportunity to make things right. I promise that I won’t squander it.**

**Spencer**

—

**Spencer Reid Re:**

**The Parliament of Fowls is often regarded as the first Valentine’s Day poem.**

**The narrator doesn’t have much experience with love, and in that regard, he and I are kindred spirits. It’s the one thing I haven’t been able to learn, no matter how many books I read.**

**And then I met you. And now this stanza finally makes sense to me:**

_**Th'air of that place so a-temperate was That never was grievance of hot nor cold. There wax also every wholesome spice and grass; No man may there wax sick nor old; Yet was there joy more a thousandfold Than man can tell; never would it be night, But always clear day to any man's sight.** _

**In the dream sequence, there are three male birds vying for the attention and adoration of the female. Essentially, they spend several stanzas arguing over who deserves to be her mate. In the end, the female decides to postpone her choice for a year, and the narrator returns to reading his books.**

**I don’t know that I’ll ever be deserving of you. But I’m asking for a chance to make it up to you. I’m willing to wait as long as you need.**

**Spencer**

—

**Spencer Reid Re:**

**do you know that you’RE inimitable >? effervescent? a luminary? because I do.**

**I’m so sorry. still**

…

Spencer turned the corner toward his apartment, rummaging through his messenger bag, fingers emerging with his keys clutched between them. The sun was setting on his second day back at the BAU, and he was exhausted. Somehow sitting at his desk for eight hours had been more tiresome than lecturing for twenty one days straight. He thanked the universe for the blessing of a Friday evening with no new cases.

He brought his free hand up to smooth a rogue curl out of his eyes, looking up from where he’d been watching his steps, and his whole body stopped dead. His gaze froze on a bright blue scarf, and his lips parted in shock.

Her eyes were on him, clear and bright. He couldn’t read her expression, but she was waiting for him, and that was something. He closed the last few feet between them, and he couldn’t help but stare at her for a moment longer.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he breathed.

She pursed her lips. “I have a lot to say.”

“Okay.” He whispered it like a prayer, like a thanks, like grace.

She took a deep breath in, and her voice wavered a little. “You hurt me.”

His voice cracked with regret when he uttered, “I know.”

“Don’t do it again.”

He shook his head but didn’t look away. “Never.”

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her coat and let out a breath. “It’s kind of absurd that you think you’re not a good person. Did you learn nothing from _The Bad Seed_?” She tilted her head. “You’re not the things that have happened to you. And if you’ve done things that you’re not proud of, then you learn from them and you do better.”

He almost smiled at how much she sounded like Penelope. He knew in his heart that the two of them would be fast friends.

She continued, “You wore a BFG costume because you knew it would make me happy. You invited me to tea because you saw me in pain. You hand drew a picture of me as Miss Honey. You practiced your story voices with your nephew and did magic tricks and an off-the-cuff dinosaur lesson for his friends.” Her eyes were shining, and he was drowning in them. “You go to work every day and deal with terrible, awful things, so that you can help people and save lives.”

His throat burned with a stifled sob. Each word from her lips fanned the embers of hope that had been smoldering in the ash of his self-doubt for the past month.

“You’re a wonderful person, Spencer,” she iterated. “I said it that night on the bench, and I meant it then, and I mean it now.”

He could feel the tear tracking down his cheek, saw her frown at him and shake her head, and prepared for the worst.

“But you can’t see and experience all of that stuff— all of that trauma— and not be affected by it.”

She squared her shoulders, and he realized that all the profiling in the world hadn’t prepared him for her. She was an enigma, surprising him at every turn, and he always felt two steps behind. Normally that would bother him, but with her, it didn’t feel like a challenge. It felt a little like chess. It felt a little like a puzzle. And he’d always loved puzzles.

She gestured between them. “If we’re going to do this, I need you to go to therapy. And not mandated by work therapy. Like, actual, I-see-a-therapist therapy. Because time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time just lets the trauma sink into the marrow of your bones. And trauma _hurts_ — it hurts you and hurts the people around you.”

Y/N sniffed a little, and his chest tightened painfully, but she powered on. “I love listening to you; I’m happy to do that all day.” She shook her head. “But I can’t— I can handle a lot of things, but I can’t handle being lied to. I can’t handle being made to feel like an idiot. I can’t handle being hurt on purpose. Pushing people away isn’t a healthy coping strategy, particularly when you do it in a way that’s hurtful. So. Therapy is a non-negotiable for me.”

She looked at him then, and he nodded, breathed out another, “Okay.” He didn’t dare say anything else, lest he scare her off. Realistically, he would have agreed to pretty much anything. Therapy was a small price to pay for another chance to be with her.

“I can ask my therapist for recommendations if you need them.” She rifled through her bag, pulling something out and holding it out to him. “Until then, I made you this.” He accepted the gift, a small, intricately carved wooden box. He carefully lifted the lid and then stared stupidly at the contents. She mumbled, “It’s um— it’s—”

“A solution kit.” He raised his eyes to look at her. “You made me a solution kit?”

She shrugged. “It’s an adult version, but to be honest, most of the solutions are pretty much the same. Taking deep breaths, reading a book, writing it down.” She took a breath, gave him the barest hint of a smile, and his heart leapt into his throat. “I can’t solve your problems for you, but I, um— I’d really love to help you brainstorm your solutions.” She closed her eyes. “That sounds way cheesier than I— if you think it’s dumb—”

“Can I hug you?” His voice was thick with tears, and he knew the evidence was on his cheeks. The most incredible person he had ever met was standing in front of him, gifting him a handmade solution kit, and he had never been so euphoric in his entire life. She opened her eyes, and he wasn’t even the slightest bit embarrassed when he begged, “Please.”

She stepped forward tentatively, and he immediately wrapped her in his arms and tucked his head into her shoulder. He breathed her in, squeezed his eyes shut, soaked in her warmth. Her arms came around him, and it felt like the last puzzle piece, like a well-worn book, like a solved equation, like coming home.

“I love you.” He murmured it into her hair, tightened his grip on her. “I don’t need you to say it back. But I need you to know. Because I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He pulled back from the hug, brought his hand up to cradle her face, swiped the tears from her cheek. “I’m not always going to get it right, and I know I have a lot to learn. But I can’t think of anything I want more than to spend every day learning how to love with you.”

She laid her warm hand over his, and he turned his palm up to lace their fingers together. “So,” he hedged. “Are you ready to teach me something I don’t know?”


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Spencer helps Reader pack up her classroom.
> 
> Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
> 
> Category: fluff
> 
> Warnings/Includes: none
> 
> a/n: I’m so soft you guys.
> 
> Song Recs: Briggs by Mike Mains & The Branches; I Hear a Symphony by Cody Fry; Wasteland, Baby by Hozier

As he made his way to the front desk, Linda peered up over the counter. “Spencer! What a nice surprise.”

“Happy Summer to you!” He placed the brown paper bag on the counter. “I come bearing gifts.”

“I know you didn’t bring me a piece of that dang chocolate banana bread.” She took the bag and opened the top, letting out a contented sigh. “You’re too good to me, doctor.”

“Not possible,” he grinned. He signed into the visitor log, then gestured down the hallway. “I’m here to help pack up her classroom.”

“Of course, honey.” She nodded down the hall as she pulled out the slice of banana bread. “You know where you’re going. Thank you for the treat!”

He waved and headed down the hallway, smiling to himself at the volume of the music vibrating through the closed door. He didn’t bother knocking, instead pushing the door open to see her standing on a desk, carefully pulling down a piece of chart paper with a rainbow of partners to ten.

She climbed down from the desk with the poster and turned to place it on the stack of them she’d already taken down. She looked up and her eyes widened a bit when she saw him.

“Hi!” she called over the music. “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing you lunch,” he called back, holding up the brown paper bag. “And helping you pack up.”

“Wait, really?” She pulled her phone out to stop the music blasting through the bluetooth speaker, crossing the room with a smile. He couldn’t help but smile back, admiring her very un-teachery outfit of Nike trainers, athletic leggings, a faded band tee, and a messy bun. When she reached him, she pulled him in for a quick kiss— so routine that it tied a knot in the string she’d wrapped around his heart.

She pulled back and asked, “How’d you get off work?”

He shrugged. “Took a personal day.”

She tilted her head with a lifted eyebrow. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think that’s two personal days you’ve taken for me, doctor.”

“You’re not wrong,” he confirmed. “I’m planning to use them all on you. Put me to work, Ms. Y/L/N.”

She laughed and put her hands on her hips. “You do understand what you’re asking for right? Because there’s a lot to do, and I’m very particular.”

“I’m very aware,” he chuckled. “I’m yours to use however you need.”

Her cheeks colored with a very pretty flush. “Well— um—” She gestured to the bag. “Lunch first?”

…

After lunch, she put him to work packing up her classroom library. He kept them organized according to her system, placing them carefully in the boxes spine up. He couldn’t help but do a little extra Dewey Decimal sorting, particularly in her nonfiction sections. He was re-labeling each box with the specific call numbers when he felt her peering over his shoulder.

“Almost done with this, then I can start taking down the letters.” An hour earlier, she’d been balancing on top of a kid-sized chair stacked on a desk to peel down her alphabet cards above the board. He’d almost had a heart attack before insisting that she (carefully) get down, holding her around the middle as she climbed off the wobbly desk.

When she didn’t respond, he paused mid-label to look at her. “Or do you need me to do something else?”

“I’ve never had anyone help me pack up my classroom before,” she admitted. “And here you are, labeling my boxes with a library classification system.”

He couldn’t quite decipher her tone, and he furrowed his brow. He could have helped with three other tasks by now if he’d just put them in the boxes like she asked. He put the cap on the marker and looked back to the boxes. “I’m sorry, I— I should have just put them in the— this was a waste of—”

“I love you.”

Her voice was soft, but sure. He brought his gaze back to her face, and the way she looked at him felt like the crackle of a hearth, the snug of his favorite sweater.

“I love you,” she repeated. “Very much. Sorry it took me so long to tell you.”

He was on his feet with his hands on her face and his lips pressed to hers almost before she could finish the sentence.

There was no desperation, no worry, nothing to prove. His mouth moved against hers with certainty and assurance. When she smiled against him, it was sunshine and cumuliform heaps. When her breath fanned over his face, it was a warm wind blowing in a curious and tender renaissance. When her fingers circled his wrists, they weren’t shackles but heirloom jewelry— precious and priceless and perennial.

It was waves crashing and calm waters, all at once. It was warm whispers and shrieking sirens, all at once. It was a beginning and an end and an infinite middle, and he was loved, loved, _loved_.

He was loved by her.

She drew back, laughed a little as he followed. Her thumbs traced over the backs of his hands as her eyes traced over his face. She pressed another kiss to his mouth, then one to the tip of his nose. “Thank you for being you.”

He turned his palms to lace their fingers together. “Thank you for loving me.”

She squeezed his hands and smiled. “You make it easy.” She used their joined hands to gesture to the boxes. “All right, lover. Finish your labeling, and then I’ll spot you on the alphabet line.”

With that, she withdrew her hands and returned to where she was labeling and packing away her desk, like she hadn’t just launched him into the exosphere without a parachute. But then again, he considered that a parachute wasn’t necessary at this altitude.

* * *

_I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnet 43_


End file.
